


Twig

by PalomaD



Category: The Mummy Series
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:35:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4428629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PalomaD/pseuds/PalomaD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More adventures of Ardeth Bay and his family. This is the third in a series starting with Little Bird and continuing with My Word is My Sword. I always rate higher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twig

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own characters. I make no money from this. If you recognize anyone from a movie, book, etc., I just borrowed them to play with. I want to convey my sincere and everlasting appreciation to Stephen Sommers and Universal Studios for the creation of The Mummy and especially the character of Ardeth Bay. No copyright infringement is intended.

Kazeem Bay heard his parents whispering in their bed. Normally, he ignored the sound coming from his parents sleeping area. But in this case, he heard his name mentioned. So he crept from his own pillow bed and put his ear against the fabric wall that separated his own sleeping area from that of his parents.

“He’s too young for his own horse!” Jamila whispered.

“He is not a baby,” replied Ardeth. “When I was his age…..”  
“When you were his age, you were already Chieftain of all the twelve tribes of the Medjai!”

Ardeth chuckled. “Not quite, kalila. I did, however, have my own horse. The horse traders have already set up their camp outside the village. I shall take Kazeem with me tomorrow and we will see what they have.”

“Not a big horse like Askari,” said Jamila, referring to Ardeth’s white stallion.

“Even I would have been unable to handle Askari when I was eight years old. The fact that he allows Kazeem to ride him is because Askari believes that Kazeem is his own son. Do not worry, my wife, we will find him something he can handle.” Ardeth turned in the direction of his son’s sleeping area. 

“Kazeem, you can come out now,” he called.

Kazeem slowly approached his parents’ bed. “I am sorry, father. I heard my name and I knew you were talking about horses. Am I really going to get my own horse?”

“Only if you go back to bed and stop sneaking around,” said his mother.

“Oh shukran! Shukran! I will go back to bed right now and never sneak around again!” Kazeem ran back to his own bed. “See, I am back in bed! I am already asleep!”

..oo00oo..

The next morning, Kazeem was awake even before his father returned from making his rounds of the village. 

Ardeth returned to the tent just as Jamila was feeding breakfast to their children. Both Kazeem and his younger sister Yasmeen had their own pieces of Aish Baladi. In the center of the low table around which the family sat was a pot of marmalade that their British friends had sent. 

“I see we are making good use of Rick and Evelyn’s gift,” remarked Ardeth as he took his own flatbread from the stack.

“Well this is a special occasion,” replied Jamila. “It’s not every day that Kazeem gets his first horse.”

“Why does Ky-Ky get a horse and I don’t?” asked Yasmeen, using her nickname for Kazeem. 

“You will get a horse of your own in three years, when you are eight,” replied Ardeth. 

“Can I come with you today, Abu?”

Ardeth looked at his daughter, then shook his head. “The camp of the horse traders is no place for you, princess. They are khawagah, outsiders.”

“Besides, don’t you have plans with Shareen today?” added Jamila. 

“Aiwa, Ume. Her father said he would take us to see the baby goats. And get away from her new baby brother. He’s all stinky and cries all the time. The baby goats are much nicer.”

Ardeth and Jamila looked at each other across their children’s heads and smiled. Yasmeen was the first girl baby born to the Bay family in a hundred years and was treated like a princess by the Medjai. But even though she was used to getting her own way, she had a sweet nature and was easily distracted.

Kazeem fidgeted through the remainder of the meal, until his father finally took pity on him.  
“Go get ready,” Ardeth instructed. 

Kazeem jumped up and ran to the chest that held his clothes.

“You’re only going to look at horses,” laughed his mother, watching Kazeem rifle through his clothes. “Not meet the king!”

Kazeem was soon dressed in a pair of grey trousers and a long black tunic. “I wish I had a robe like father’s,” he said.

“You will have time enough for that when you are older,” Ardeth admonished.

“Yusef already wears robes.”

“Your uncle is two years older than you are,” said Jamila. “He’s already started his warrior training. When you are his age I’m sure your grandmother Fatima will sew something special for you.” Jamila reached out and took Kazeem’s skullcap from his hands. “Now let me put your taqiyah on straight,” she said. “Just in case you do meet the king.” 

..oo00oo..

Ardeth and Kazeem walked through the village to the outskirts where the horse traders had set up their camp. Ardeth slowed his pace so his son would not have to run to keep up with him. As they walked along, Ardeth pointed out the extra sentries he had ordered to ring the village.

“When there are strangers here, we must be extra vigilant.” Ardeth took every opportunity to instruct his son. When he retired, Kazeem would become the next Chieftain of the twelve tribes of the Medjai. 

Kazeem looked around at the early morning bustle of the village. Warriors in black robes similar to his father’s passed by and either dipped their heads briefly or murmured respectful greetings. Both men and women tended to chores while older children helped and younger children played between the tents.

“I am glad that we are Medjai, father,” Kazeem said.

“Our way of life is sometimes hard, but I believe Allah has blessed us,” agreed Ardeth. “Do you know what a Medjai warrior does?” This was something that Kazeem had been taught from the time he could talk.

“Aiwa. He protects the world from He-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named. He fights. He looks after his family.”

“And who is his family?”

“The Medjai!”

“Remember that, Kazeem, when you are Chieftain. You will be like a father to all the people of the Medjai.”

“Even Yusef?”

Ardeth smiled. “Even Yusef.”

Kazeem smiled in return. “I will like that. When I am Chieftain, I will not let him boss me around anymore.”

“Well I am Chieftain, and that has not stopped Musaid from bossing me around, and he is not even my uncle.”

“Did I hear someone say my name?” said Musaid as he approached. “Good morning, Sayyid. Good morning, Young Sayyid,” Musaid smiled at Kazeem. “Where are you off to this morning?”

“We are going to get me a horse!” replied Kazeem. He looked around. “Where is Benyamin?”

“He and his sisters are catching up on their lessons. Since Zahara had her baby and there have been no classes, my children have been remiss. And they always seem to find something more important to do than studying. Even their mother has been unable to persuade them to do their schoolwork.” Musaid’s wife Natira was one of the few female Medjai warriors.

“Yusef and I have been doing our lessons together. Grandfather Humam has been making sure we do not fall behind.”

“That’s good, Kazeem,” replied Musaid. “If you study hard you will be able to go off to university like you father did.”

“I’d like that, but first, I want to get my horse!”

“Then I will leave you to it. I need to go to my sister’s and get the books my children so conveniently left there.” With that, Musaid walked of in the direction of Zahara and Sahmir’s tent.

The horse traders had set up camp adjacent to the Medjai village. They had erected a large paddock which was filled with a variety of horses: young, old, large, and small. At one end of the paddock stood a ramshackle structure. Calling it a tent would be an insult to the trim tents the Medjai lived in. It was closer to the lean-to’s some Medjai built to keep their horses close by.

“Is this where they live?” whispered Kazeem, as they approached the tent.

“Be silent and you may learn something,” chided Ardeth. Kazeem nodded, glancing at the men who were squatting outside in the dirt. Some of them were smoking tobacco in long stemmed pipes, a practice forbidden to the Muslim Medjai.

One of the men unfolded himself from the ground and walked over to Ardeth and Kazeem. “Good day, effendi,” he said. I am pleased you have allowed us to visit your village. We have many horses for sale, as you can see.” He gestured to one of the other men. “You! Bring that string of horses over here.” The other man got up and walked over to the paddock, returning with a group of horses tied together by a length of rope. “These are the best I have, the best between here and Cairo.”

Ardeth approached the horses and examined each of them carefully. When he was finished, he pointed to three of them. “Those three, how much?”

“Ah, I see you have a good eye,” replied the Bedouin. Those are the best of my best.” He named a price, Ardeth countered, and eventually they reached a compromise. All this time, Kazeem was quiet, looking around with big eyes at the strange men who, in turn were looking back at him. He caught the eye of one of them who smirked and made a throat-slashing motion with his hand. Kazeem quickly looked away, not really frightened, as he was with his father, but uneasy nonetheless.

Finally, Ardeth turned to leave, and almost as an afterthought said, “Oh yes, and a horse for the boy.” He had not introduced Kazeem and had not said that Kazeem was his son. Ardeth pointed to a foal that stood shivering by the fence.

“Oh that one, he’s worth more as dinner than as a mount. His dam died giving birth to him and he’s had a hard time getting enough to eat.” The horse trader smirked. “I’ll let you have him if you send some of your women out here to entertain us later.”

“I will send some of my warriors out with food at dusk,” replied Ardeth, his expression darkening. “We will take the foal with the others.” 

The horse trader began to protest, but was stopped by the expression on Ardeth’s face. “Of course, effendi. That will be acceptable. Shukran.” The horse trader paused for a moment. “And if you ever want to sell that brute of yours,” he continued. “You will please think of me.”

“Askari is not for sale,” replied Ardeth. 

“Yes, yes, I meant no offense. Look, here come your horses.”

One of the other Bedouins had separated the three horses and the foal from the others and brought them over to Ardeth.

“By the way, what is that one’s name?” asked Ardeth as he took the rope from the other man.

“We just call him Twig, effendi,” replied the man. “He’s not horse enough for a real name.” With that, the man made to slap the foal on the haunch, only to find his arm encased in the Medjai’s steely grip. 

“There will be no need of that,” said Ardeth. 

Ardeth turned to Kazeem. “We are finished here,” he said imperiously, as a man might speak to a servant, not as a father would talk to his son.

Once they were out of earshot of the Bedouins, Ardeth turned to Kazeem. “You are disappointed,” he said mildly.

“No father, it’s just that I thought I was going to get a horse. I mean a big horse, one that I could ride.”

Ardeth smiled down at his son. “Why do you think Askari lets you ride him, when even Farris, who is in charge of the stables, can barely approach him?”

“I never thought about it.”

“He loves you, as much as a horse loves anything. When you were born, I brought you out to him and said ‘this is your son’. Whether he understood or not, I do not know. But I think in some way he thinks of you as his.”

“I understand,” Kazeem said slowly. “If you got me one of those big horses, they would let me ride them but it would not be the same.” He looked back at the foal trailing behind the other three horses. “Twig will be only mine.”

“Are you going to change his name?”

“I don’t think so. When he is big like Askari it will remind me of the day I got him.”

“He will probably not be as large as Askari.”

“I know, Abu, but he will grow, won’t he?” Kazeem said hopefully.

Ardeth laughed. “If you take good care of him he will grow into a fine horse. He has good lines and seems to have an even temperament, as long as he stops shivering.”

“Now,” Ardeth continued. “Tell me what you learned.”

“You did not tell them my name or who I was. You did not want them to know that I was the son of the Chieftain.”

“Very good. What else?”

“If we had sent our women out to their camp, they would have……” Kazeem paused. “They would not have treated them with respect.”

Ardeth noted with satisfaction that Kazeem has referred to the women of the village as ‘our women’. “Probably not,” he replied.

“It’s hard being Chieftain, isn’t it? How do you always know what to do?”

“Your grandfather taught me as I am teaching you. And you have much growing to do, just as Twig does.” 

When the procession of man, boy, and horses reached the stables, Farris and his son Bashir were waiting. Ardeth handed to lead over to the younger man. “Put them in the empty stalls away from the other horses,” he ordered. “I do not want to turn them out until we are sure they are healthy.”

“Of course, Sayyid,” replied Bashir. “What about this little one?” 

“He is my son’s horse. You would best ask him.” All three men looked expectantly at Kazeem.

“Can’t we just take him home with us?” Kazeem quietly asked his father. It was common for those Medjai who owned only a few horses to keep them lean-to’s attached to their tents. As Chieftain, Ardeth had enough horses to warrant separate stables on the outer edge of the village. 

Ardeth looked down at his son. “He will be happier here, with the other horses,” he replied. 

Kazeem turned to the other men. “A nice loose box, please, but not at the end. Put him in between the horses we bought today.” He looked up at his father. “Twig will be warmer that way.”

Ardeth nodded in approval.

“Are you going to geld him?” asked Farris, as he walked over to examine the foal.

Kazeem gasped, then shook his head. “No, he is going to be a big stallion, just like my father’s horse.”

“And a good beginning for your herd,” replied Farris, smiling. “Allah willing, in another ten years you’ll have enough horses to get a pretty bride.”

After they left the horses in Farris’ capable hands, Ardeth and Kazeem walked back to their tent. Kazeem looked up at his father. “Tell me, Abu, about the horses,” he asked.

Ardeth chuckled. He knew Kazeem wanted to hear the story of how Ardeth asked for Jamila’s hand in marriage.

“I loved your mother very much,” the Medjai began. “As I still do. But she thought she was not worthy of being the wife of a chieftain. So I brought her before her father in front of all the village and offered him fifty horses as a bride price. That was an unheard of amount then, as it is even today.”

“And what did grandfather Hatim do with all those horses?” Kazeem grinned. He knew the punchline to the story.

“He tried to give them back to me as a wedding present!”

Father and son both laughed.

“Of course, I would not accept them. But that is why, even today, your grandfather’s herd rivals my own.” 

When they reached home, Kazeem ran into the tent. “Ume, I have a horse!” he shouted.

Jamila was going through a trunk that held Kazeem’s old clothes. She stood up, holding a very small tunic. “This would be good for Zahara’s baby, don’t you think? I’m getting a basket together to send over to them.”

She added the shirt to a pile of clothes she had already set aside.

“Now where is this horse of yours?” Jamila asked her son, looking around as if she expected to find a horse in their tent.

“He’s in the stables! His name is Twig and he’s still very small but someday he will be big like Askari! Well maybe not as big as Askari but he will be a big battle horse and…..and…..”

“Slow down,” said Jamila. “If you’ll help me pack up these clothes and take them over to Zahara’s tent for me, I will let you show me this great battle horse of yours.”

“Oh Ume, he’s not a battle horse yet, but he will be!”

“And please bring you sister back with you. I’m sure she’ll want to see…what’s his name again?” 

“Twig. His name is Twig.” 

Once Kazeem had left with the basket of clothes, Jamila turned to her husband. “A big battle horse?” she asked.

Ardeth smiled. “He’s about this big, kalila,” he said, indicating a spot somewhere between three and four feet off the ground. “Not much bigger than a newborn. Supposedly his dam died giving birth and when the horse trader suggested they were going to serve him for dinner……”

“I’m sure he just said that so you would take the foal.”

“Who knows? Those horse traders are not like us, and I will be glad when they are gone. If we did not need new blood in our herds I would not allow them here at all. But Farris thinks, based on the size of the foal’s legs, that Kazeem may yet wind up with a ‘big battle horse’.”

When Kazeem returned, with Yasmeen in tow, the family made their way back to the stables. Twig seemed tiny in his stall. “When do I get to ride him,” asked Yasmeen.

“He’s still too young and too small,” replied Jamila. “He’s just a baby.”

Yasmeen looked around. “Then where is his uma?”

“His ume is dead, sweetie,” answered Jamila. Even at the age of five, Yasmeen was not sheltered from the harshness of life in the desert.

“Oh that’s so sad!” Yasmeen unlatched the stall door and ran in. She put her arms around the foal’s neck. “Don’t worry, baby, we’ll take good care of you. We’ll brush you and feed you and braid your tail with ribbons…….”

“I will not have a horse with ribbons in his tail,” exclaimed Kazeem. Yasmeen turned to him, her lower lip quivering. “The brushing and feeding is alright,” Kazeem relented. “But no ribbons, he is a man horse.”

“Well when I have my own horse, I will have a lady horse like Shehzadi,” replied Yasmeen, referring to her mother’s horse. “And I will put ribbons in her tail, and in her mane, and everywhere!”

During this conversation, Twig had backed up to the far corner of the stall. Kazeem walked over to the foal and gently disengaged his sister’s arms from around Twig’s neck. He looked over to his father, silently asking for help.

“Let us leave these two alone to get better acquainted,” said Ardeth, immediately understanding what Kazeem wanted. He shepherded his wife and daughter out of the stable with a minimum of fuss. As they walked away, Kazeem heard his sister talking.

“Can I stay over with Shareen tonight?” asked Yasmeen. She had already moved on from thoughts of horses and ribbons.

“If it’s alright with Sahmir and Zahara,” responded Jamila. It was common for Medjai children to spend the night with their friends, affording their parents a small amount of privacy that was missing when parents and children lived together in a tent.

Ardeth leaned down and whispered in his wife’s ear. “One down, one to go,” he said, using one of his friend Rick’s slang expressions.

Even after almost ten years of marriage and two children, Jamila still blushed at the thought of her husband’s intentions.

Ardeth reached over and stroked Jamila’s cheek. “You blush so prettily at my words,” he murmured seductively. “Like a beautiful rose, whose petals shall open for me tonight when we are alone.”

Jamila looked up and not for the first time thought about the dichotomy that was her husband. The same man who could lead a force of thousands into bloody battle was a gentle and loving husband and father, a man who wielded words of romance as well as his blade.

Before Jamila could think of a reply, she felt a tug on her tunic. “Ume, let’s go!” interrupted Yasmeen. 

Ardeth bent down, grabbed his daughter, and swung her up in the air. “The queen has spoken!” he laughed. Yasmeen squealed with delight. When Ardeth put her down, Yasmeen took his large hand in both her small ones and began pulling him in the direction of their tent. If anyone thought it unseemly for the Chieftain of the twelve tribes of the Medjai to be dragged through the village by a little girl, they kept those thoughts to themselves.

..oo00oo..

When Kazeem had not returned home by suppertime, Ardeth went back to the stables. “Do you plan on sleeping here tonight?” he asked his son.

Kazeem gave his father a hopeful look. “Oh can I, Abu? There’s plenty of room in the stall and I’m sure Twig will be happier with me here.” 

Ardeth looked at the foal, who did indeed look happier, or at least less miserable. He had stopped shivering and was no longer jammed in the corner.

“I knew you would ask me that, so I brought these,” Ardeth replied. From behind his back he produced an old campaign bedroll and a well-worn blanket. “Your mother will be here shortly with your dinner.”

A short while after Ardeth left, Jamila arrived with a basket of food for Kazeem. “I put a little extra something in here for Twig,” said Jamila. “You need to be careful not to feed him too many treats, but once in a while is fine.” 

Kazeem was already looking through the meal his mother had brought, and held up two tigernut sweets. “I’ll give him the small one of these,” he said. “I don’t want to make him sick.”

“That will be fine,” Jamila said. “I’m sure he’s never had anything like that before.” She turned to leave. “If you decide to come home tonight,” she said. “Make sure you have someone come with you.” No matter how safe the village was, or seemed to be, during the day, children were not allowed to be out alone after dark.

Kazeem began to protest.

“Once you receive your marks, you may wander around in the dark all you wish,” said Jamila. “Until then, you are still my Ky-Ky.”

“Aiwa, mother,” replied Kazeem. “And shukran for the basket of food.”

When Jamila returned home, she saw that Ardeth had brought two low stools outside and placed them in front of the family’s tent.

“Come sit here with me, kalila,” he said as Jamila approached. It was not uncommon for families to sit outside at dusk and enjoy whatever breezes arose as the sun went down.

Jamila sat down next to her husband. “The sky is beautiful tonight,” she said.

“Not as beautiful as you are,” replied Ardeth, taking his wife’s hand. “When I am out on patrol,” he continued. “I look up and see your eyes in the color of the night sky, and it is as if you are there with me.” Jamila’s eyes were the same color grey as the desert sky at this time of day. 

From across the village came the soft sounds of music. “I think Sahmir and Natira are entertaining the children tonight,” said Jamila. “That’s why Yasmeen was so intent on spending the night with her friend.” Both Sahmir and Natira, besides being Medjai warriors, were accomplished musicians.

Ardeth and Jamila sat quietly for a while enjoying the impromptu concert. Finally Ardeth turned to his wife. “I have an instrument right here that I would like you to play,” he said, gesturing to his crotch.

Jamila pretended to be scandalized, but she could not help but giggle. “Such language,” she said. “What kind of woman do you think I am?”

“The kind that will soon be unclothed and under me.” Ardeth stood up, drawing Jamila up with him. “We must take advantage of our time alone.”

“My lord commands and I obey,” smiled Jamila, following her husband into the tent.  
When their children were asleep nearby, Ardeth and Jamila tried to be circumspect in their coupling. So they savored the times they were alone. Before long, Jamila was indeed unclothed and under her husband.

“Does this please you?” growled Ardeth, quickening his pace.

Jamila was always surprised at how conversational her husband was in bed. Most times, she could barely manage a word here and there. But when she felt Ardeth pull out of her, she found her voice. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Roll over, onto your hands and knees,” Ardeth instructed.

Jamila hastened to comply, knowing what her husband wanted. Ardeth placed himself behind her and nudged her legs open. He slid back into Jamila’s wet heat, reaching one hand around to rub the little nub that brought his wife such pleasure. Ardeth silently thanked the girls of the pleasure houses of Cairo who had taught him how to make the carnal act as enjoyable for his wife as it was for him.

Early in their marriage, Jamila had been curious about the women Ardeth had bedded before he had married her. “I copulated with many women,” Ardeth replied with only a little pride. “But I never made love with anyone until you.”

That answer appeased Jamila, and she was also appreciative of the fact that her husband considered her satisfaction as well as his own. She knew from hearing the conversations of some of the women of the village that there were some men who were not as indulgent as Ardeth, men who took their pleasure with little thought of their wives’.

The moon was at its zenith when Ardeth and Jamila were awoken by what sounded like screams coming from the direction of the stables.

“What now?” exclaimed Ardeth, pulling on his tunic and trousers and grabbing his scimitar. 

Jamila sat up in bed, not even trying to cover herself. “Kazeem is out there!” she cried. 

“Do not worry, I will find out what is going on. He will be fine,” Ardeth said, hoping that was the truth.

Ardeth ran through the village. Along the way, he passed other warriors coming out of their tents half dressed, weapons in hand. When they got to the stables, Ardeth found that the horrible noises were coming from the paddock where Askari was kept. As he approached, he saw two men on the ground. One was not moving. The other, with gashes on his torso and one leg dangling at an odd angle, was screaming as he tried to scrabble away from Askari, who was covered with blood. 

It was then that Ardeth saw Kazeem. Kazeem had climbed into the enclosure and was nose to nose with the great horse, murmuring softly while he stroked Askari’s muzzle. When he heard the approaching men, Kazeem turned.

“It’s alright,” said Kazeem, catching his father’s eye. “It’s not his blood. These men tried to steal Askari. The blood mostly belongs to that one.” Kazeem pointed to the body on the ground. “They were trying to steal him.” Kazeem smiled and Ardeth saw his own cold smile on his son’s face. “They failed.” Kazeem turned back to the horse. “It’s alright, I won’t let anyone hurt you,” 

The tableau of small boy comforting huge dangerous horse might have been amusing if it were not for the second man trying to pull himself to safety. Once Ardeth had satisfied himself that the horse was uninjured, he turned his attention to the would-be horse thief, who had been restrained by two of the Medjai.

“What were you thinking?” Ardeth said, almost sadly. Sadly, because among the Medjai, as in most of the world, the punishment for horse theft was death.

“Sayyid! It was his fault,” said the man, pointing to the body of his dead comrade. “I owed him money and he told me I could repay him by helping him take the stallion.”

Ardeth looked more closely at the men. “I recognize you. You were in the camp of the horse traders. Does your shakyh know what you are doing?”

“No Sayyid!”

“But he would not have minded if the stallion somehow showed up in his herd.”

“No Sayyid,” said the man miserably, knowing he had been caught in a lie.

Ardeth came to a decision. “Go back to your camp,” he said. If your bayt is still there by daylight, I will send my warriors out to visit you. And you will tell your tribesmen,” he continued. “What a merciful man the Chieftain of the Medjai is.”

“Yes, my lord. Shukran!” said the man as he was dropped back to the ground by the two warriors who had been holding him. 

As the Bedouin crawled away, Musaid came up behind Ardeth. “Do you think he will make it back to his own camp by daybreak?” he asked.

“That is not my problem,” Ardeth replied. “I am only giving him the opportunity to live because I have been having a very enjoyable evening, at least until this happened.”

“Ah,” smirked Musaid, understanding dawning. “I know Kazeem was here, but the princess?”

“Yasmeen is spending the night with Shareen’s family.”

“In that case, the Bedouin dogs have the Lady Jamila to thank for their good fortune.”

Musaid looked over at the body of the other Bedouin. “What shall we do with him, Sayyid?”

“Pull him out of there. I do not want Askari to get any more blood on him. You can throw the body out for the jackals.”

Musaid went to enter the paddock, then realized that Askari was still standing over the body. Musaid looked over at Ardeth with trepidation. “My lord? What about your horse?”

Ardeth laughed and called Kazeem over. “Kazeem, can you please take Askari and put him in one of the empty stalls? I believe he has had enough excitement for one night.”

“Of course, father.” Kazeem grabbed a rope that was lying nearby, made a loop, and dropped it over the horse’s head. “Come on, you big brute,” he cajoled as he led the horse away. As they walked away, Ardeth could hear Kazeem talking. “Tomorrow, we will wash all that blood off of you, and brush you, and you will be the most handsome horse in the world!” 

When Ardeth returned to his tent, Jamila was dressed and pacing. “Where is Kazeem?” she asked.

Ardeth told her about the horse thieves and the part Kazeem had played.

“Why did you not bring him back with you?” asked Jamila.

“He is fine, my love. Besides, at this point, I believe he is the only one besides myself that Askari will allow to be near him. He is as safe with Askari as he would be in his own bed.”

“Yes I suppose so,” replied Jamila, somewhat mollified. “Did Askari really kill that man?”

“He would have finished off the other thief if Kazeem had not stopped him. Our son seems to have a gift when it comes to horses.”

“He is like his father in that,” said Jamila.

Ardeth smiled, not the cold smile reserved for miscreants but the mischievous one reserved especially for his wife. “I am told I also have a gift when it comes to women,” he said.

“In truth?”

“Take off that robe and I will show you.”

..oo00oo..

The following morning, Musaid, as Ardeth’s second-in-command, led a group of young warriors out to where the Bedouins had been camped. The desert was empty except for the body of the second horse thief. Musaid spat down at the corpse. “These men take less care of their own people than they do of their stock,” he said. “If they had a healer, this man could have been saved. Instead, they left him here to die.”

“The next time they are here…” began one of the other warriors.

“There will be no next time,” answered Musaid. “I am certain our Chieftain will not allow these people anywhere near our villages again.” Then, looking at the crestfallen expressions on the young warriors’ faces, Musaid smiled. “Do not fear,” he continued. “I am sure there is something out in this desert for you all to sharpen your blades on.” With that, he wheeled his horse around. 

“Yalla! Imshi!” called Musaid, and the other warriors turned their own horses and returned to the village.

..oo00oo..

Life in the village of the First Tribe soon settled back to normal. As soon as her baby did not require a feeding every forty-five minutes, Zahara resumed the classes she held for Musaid and Natira’s three children, and Kazeem and Yusef Bay. Both Kazeem and Yusef were keen on learning and it was assumed that they would eventually attend school outside the village, either in Cairo or someplace else. Ardeth had spent three years at Oxford before returning to Egypt to become Chieftain, and he hoped his son would have the same opportunities that had been afforded to him. As for Benyamin and his twin sisters, Sarra and Tali, they viewed the prospect of sitting in a tent studying reading, writing, and sums with distaste. Benyamin was happy to follow his friends Kazeem and Yusef in whatever small mischief they might get into, but when the other two boys began talking about history, or fractions, Benyamin lost interest. As for Sarra and Tali, they announced loftily that since they were going to marry Yusef when they were all of age, they had no need for school, since Yusef was smart enough for all three of them. Yusef would get a hunted look on his face when the girls mentioned marriage, but he secretly enjoyed the attention. It was uncommon for a Medjai to have more than one wife but not unheard of. And even though Yusef would not be able to marry them for at least six years, he knew he loved Sarra and Tali if not the same, then equally.

Twig flourished under Kazeem’s care. The foal no longer looked like he would topple over with the next strong breeze. Kazeem began training him with an old halter. When Ardeth brought a new halter back from Cairo, Kazeem decided he would let his sister and her friend Shareen decorate it if they would agree to help muck out Twig’s stall. Despite an occasional wrinkled nose at the smell, the two little girls eagerly took to their new task, thrilled to have a “baby horse” to play with. And Kazeem grudgingly admitted that the girls, despite their age, did a good job. Twig’s stall was always clean and Kazeem liked not having to do all the work himself.  
Musaid, as promised, took the fledgling warriors out into the desert and they did in fact get more than one chance to “sharpen their blades”. Even excluding Hamunaptra, there were always unscrupulous treasure seekers more than willing to defile the other sacred sites for the promise of riches. Most did not return from the desert alive.

All in all, everything was peaceful, serene, and, as the Medjai chieftain was sorry to admit, boring. So when one morning Ardeth heard the sentry’s whistle indicating that a stranger was entering the village, he smiled in anticipation.

As he strode to the village’s main entrance, he noticed Jamila pulling clothes off one of the lines that was set up by the laundry tent. 

“That’s where I get my best news,” Jamila had protested when Ardeth tried to persuade her that the wife of a Chieftain did not need to do her own washing. They managed to compromise, and Ardeth noticed with satisfaction that one of the novice warriors stood nearby Jamila, ready to help carry the basket of clothes back to the family’s tent.

There were two warriors who were currently stationed in Cairo waiting for Ardeth, accompanied by a man in Western clothing. “Sayyid,” said one of them, dipping his head in greeting.

“What have we here?” asked Ardeth. Although the man was wearing a European suit, his head and face were wrapped in a turban and veil against the harshness of the desert.

“This man came to our compound in Cairo and asked us to bring him to the village,” replied the other warrior.

“And do you do whatever any passing Englisher asks?” questioned Ardeth. He had noted the battered suitcase and brown leather satchel at the stranger’s feet and had a good idea who he was.

“No, Sayyid, he had a letter from you!” The first warrior pulled a folded paper out of his robe and not for the first time Ardeth was glad that most of the younger warriors were learning to read and write English as well as Arabic.

Ardeth frowned, a menacing expression belying the sparkle in his eyes. “How do you know this is not a forgery?” he demanded. “This man could be a spy!”

The two warriors looked at each other with alarm. “Shall we take him back out into the desert, Sayyid?” the first one asked.

“No, I have a better idea.” Ardeth walked over to the man and unwrapped his veil, then broke into a smile.

“My old friend James White!” exclaimed the Medjai, clapping the other man’s shoulders.

Ardeth turned to the two astonished warriors. “This is my former classmate James White from England,” he said. “And these two,” he said to the Englishman. “I am certain you have had ample time to become acquainted with on the trip here.”

“Actually,” said James. “My Arabic is nonexistent so there was not much conversation.”

Ardeth chuckled. “My friend, these men speak English better than I do! What kind of savages do you think we are?”

“Only the best kind?” Both men laughed at what was obviously an old joke between themselves. 

Ardeth pointed to the leather bag at James’ feet. “Is this a business of a pleasure visit?” he asked.

“Well you know I’m with the Ministry of Agriculture now,” James replied. “I’ve come to Cairo to show your chaps the latest developments in Brucellosis testing. 

Ardeth gave his friend a confused look.

“It’s a disease that mostly affects cows,” continued James. “I believe you call it Malta Fever.”

“Of course,” replied Ardeth in understanding. “We do not keep cows here, but we have goats, horses, and camels.”

“Goats are subject to a different strain of the disease,” said James, warming to his topic. “I’d be glad to run some tests on your herd while I am here. Do you see a large number of spontaneous abortions?”

“I do not believe so, but that is a question Farris, who keeps my stables, would be better able to answer. How long are you going to be able to stay here?” This was a double edged question. Ardeth was glad to see his friend and knew he would enjoy spending time with him, but outsiders in a Medjai village could pose problems.

“A few days at most, I’m afraid. This is just a little holiday before I am expected back in Cairo.”

Ardeth nodded, then turned to the two warriors. “Set up one of the tents we keep for guests. The empty spot near my own tent should be adequate.”

“Aiwa, my lord,” said one of the other Medjai. The two warriors took James’ suitcase and scurried off, somewhat confused by the whole situation but glad they were not in trouble.

“So you’re the big cheese around here,” remarked James, looking after the departing men.

“You could say that,” replied Ardeth. “Come, let me show you to my tent. You must be thirsty after your journey.” With that, he picked up James’ bag and set off through the village, accompanied by the Englishman. 

Upon entering the tent, Ardeth put James’ satchel on the floor. James looked down and saw that the floor was made out of the same material as the rest of the tent, with the addition of a beautiful woven rug. “I always wondered how you kept sand out of everything,” he said.

“You are lucky that we have a tent similar to this available for you,” replied the Medjai. “If you were staying in a campaign tent, you would have the desert as your floor.”

Ardeth walked over to what James assumed was a kitchen area, complete with a small stove. He lifted up an earthenware pitcher that was sitting on a low table and shook it. “You will excuse me,” said Ardeth. “I will return in a moment.”

“That’s fine,” replied James. He had seen a well in the middle of the village and understood that Ardeth was going to refill the pitcher.

“Do not leave this tent,” Ardeth ordered. “It is for your own safety to not venture out alone,” he said more softly. Then he left.

James looked around the tent with interest. The kitchen area consisted of the small stove, some shelves stocked with cooking equipment, dishes, and spices, and a low table surrounded by low stools. James was standing in what would loosely be termed the parlour. There were stacks of pillows of many sizes, a few more low stools, and, surprisingly for James, a set of shelves filled with books. Off to the sides were what James assumed to be sleeping areas, hidden from view by hanging tapestries.

“A home fit for a sultan,” James murmured. He walked over to the bookshelf and examined the titles of the volumes stored there. He slipped a small tome from the shelf. “Omar Khayyam,” he exclaimed. He smiled at the memory of reading poetry to his wife during their honeymoon in the Pennines. When he noticed what looked like a bullet hole piercing the center of the book, he hurriedly replaced it on the shelf.

Suddenly he heard a noise outside the tent and, assuming it was his friend returning with the water, turned with a smile. “I’ve been looking………..” he trailed off. Because it was not the Medjai chieftain standing in the ten’s doorway, it was what looked like a servant girl carrying a basket of laundry, with a small child peering out from behind her.

“I wish I could speak to these people,” James muttered to himself. “I am here to see your master,” he said, loudly and slowly, as if loud and slow would make him understood. “Your,” James searched his memory for the word the other Medjai had used. “Your Sayyid. Yes, your Sayyid. I am here to see your Sayyid.” James smiled in what he hoped was a non-threatening way. 

The girl had dropped the basket and began to back out of the tent, clutching the little girl by the hand. Before she could get all the way out, she was stopped by a wall of black fabric.

“Kalila! What is wrong?” Ardeth stepped into the tent, water jug in hand.

“Ardeth, who is this man?” whispered Jamila in Arabic, pressing back against her husband.

Ardeth looked over at James, who began to stammer, “I didn’t, I wasn’t…….”

“My wife, I do not believe you have met my friend from Oxford, James White,” Ardeth replied in the same language. He nudged Jamila forward.

“James,” said Ardeth, switching to English. “May I present my wife, the Lady Jamila Bay.”

“Your wife? I thought she was a servant. The laundry, her clothes……”

Ardeth looked down at his wife. Her hair was pulled back in a long braid that reached her waist and she was dressed in the same style of homespun tunic and trousers that was worn by almost every other woman and most of the children of the village. Then he lifted one of Jamila’s arms and pushed the sleeve back, displaying the gold cuff Jamila wore.

“Do your English servants wear bracelets such as this?” Ardeth asked with a smile.

Jamila pushed up her other sleeve and showed James a similar bracelet. “This one I received when I wed the Chieftain,” she said in perfect English. “And the other one my lord gave me upon the birth of our son.”

“You speak English!” James said.

“And Arabic, and Our Language, and Hieratic….” Ardeth added proudly.

“My husband, my Hieratic is not nearly good enough to hold a conversation.” Jamila protested.

James knew what Hieratic was and he looked at the two Egyptians in confusion. “Who would you have a conversation with in Hieratic?” he asked. “No one has spoken that language in thousands of years.”

Ardeth and Jamila looked at each other. “No one,” they both said in unison.

There was an awkward silence. Finally, James, casting about for something to say, remembered the girl who was now peeking out from behind Ardeth’s robes.

“And who is this little one?” he asked.

Ardeth pulled his daughter out from behind him. “This is our daughter Yasmeen,” he said. “This is my friend James White,” he said to Yasmeen. “We attended school together.”

“Did you study lessons together like Kazeem and Yusef?” asked Yasmeen.

“No,” replied her father. “We went to university together. Now say hello to him, in English please.”

Yasmeen walked over to James but kept one eye on her father. “My name is the Princess Yasmeen Amira Bay,” she began. “Bint Ardeth,” she turned and smiled at her father. “Ibn Humam, Ibn Solkar, Ibn Ibn Ibn………Kazeem!” she finished triumphantly. “I have two princesses in my name,” she added. “I am a princess and my second name means princess!”

James squatted down so he was at eye level with the little girl. “And how many languages do you speak, princess?”

Yasmeen counted off on her fingers. “Arabic, English, Our Language…..that’s three. But I can only read some Arabic, not English yet. And my Ume has promised to teach me Hieratic and to read,” she turned to her mother. “Hippogriffics?” 

Jamila smiled. “Hieroglyphics, sweetie,” she replied.

Yasmeen turned back to James. “That’s right, Hieroglyphics. I was being silly. Hippos can’t read. I already know one word, though. It looks like a stork.”

“And this,” muttered Ardeth, “is the khamaseen otherwise known as my daughter.”

Yasmeen turned to her father. “I am not a wind storm!” she protested. “I am a little girl.”

“Yasmeen,” interrupted Jamila. “Would you come and help me put your clean clothes away? After we are done we can go visit Amira and Humam. I saw a box of sweets meant for them among the packages that came today from Cairo.”

“From Am Abdul’s?” asked the girl, referring the Medjai-run café in Cairo.

“Aiwa. I know they were meant for your grandmother Amira but I am sure she will let you have one if I tell her how helpful you’ve been.”

Yasmeen turned to James and said, again in perfect English, “It was a pleasure to meet you, James White.” Then she skipped off behind her mother into what James now knew was a sleeping area.

“The man who marries my daughter will need to have the patience of a sage and the strength of a……” sighed Ardeth.

“A hippo?” finished James. Both men laughed.

Ardeth hefted the pitcher that was still in his hand. “My apologies,” he said. “I have been remiss in my duties as a host.”

“Do you have anything, you know, stronger? This has been quite an exciting day. Oh I know, no alcohol, no tobacco, no bangers and mash…….What do you do for fun here anyway?”

“You have met the Lady Jamila,” replied Ardeth, with a sly smile.

“I understand. You always did have an eye for the ladies,” said James.

“I have not desired any other since the day I first laid eyes upon she-who-is-my-wife.”

“Of course. Well, cheers,” said James, holding up the cup of water Ardeth had given him.

Before Jamila and Yasmeen left the tent, Jamila made tea in an ornate samovar, making sure Yasmeen did not get to close to the burning charcoal. She served the tea to the men along with a plate of Ghorayeba, otherwise known as sand biscuits. Ordinarily Yasmeen would have asked for one, but the little girl knew something better awaited her at her grandmother’s tent.

Ardeth and James spent the next hour catching up of each other’s lives since leaving Oxford. James told a number of stories about his adventures as a veterinarian in the Yorkshire Dales while Ardeth shared as much as he could about his life and adventures without disclosing too many details. At one point, James pointed to the samovar. “I’ll wager there is a story about how you acquired that,” he said.

Ardeth smiled at the memory. Here was a story he could tell his friend without having to slit his throat afterwards.

It was nighttime, and Ardeth Bay was awoken by the sound of a baby crying. Yasmeen had started sleeping through the night not long ago, but Ardeth checked her nonetheless. After satisfying himself that his daughter was asleep, the Medjai pulled on a robe against the night chill and went outside his tent. As he expected, he found Sahmir pacing back and forth in front of his own tent, a crying infant in his arms.

Ardeth smiled at the other man. “In England,” he said. “This is called the witching hour.” 

Sahmir looked around in alarm as if expecting to be set upon by creatures the night.

“I call this the hour when good Medjai babies should be asleep in their beds,” Ardeth continued. “But prefer to be carried around in the dark by their fathers.”

“Shareen has worn my wife out,” Sahmir admitted. “Tell me, Sayyid, when do babies start staying asleep at night?” 

Shareen was about six months younger than Yasmeen, “conceived in the sand” if Ardeth remembered correctly. “I believe you have a few more months to go,” Ardeth commiserated. “Here, let me show you something.” He reached out his hands for the crying infant, who Sahmir gratefully relinquished.

“When you walk around with her, do like this,” Ardeth said, jiggling the baby gently.

“What if she….you know…..gives back her dinner?” asked Sahmir.

“We have had worse on these robes, have we not?”

Sahmir nodded. “Aiwa, my lord.”

“I have also found,” continued Ardeth. “That singing helps.”

“Perhaps for someone with a voice such as yours, Sayyid.”

“I believe that any low voice will do, and most especially if it is her father’s”

Sahmir smiled in the dark. “I am still getting used to the idea of being a father,” he admitted.

“There is no greater blessing,” replied Ardeth, returning the baby to her father’s arms.

The next morning, Ardeth said to his wife, “I am going to lead a patrol out for a few days.”

“Is there something wrong?” Jamila asked in a concerned voice. Ardeth usually left the  
patrolling to Musaid unless there was a special reason.

“Sahmir needs some time away from his crying daughter. She is three months old now, so I will simply have Sahmir think he has been put back into rotation.” Under normal circumstances, Medjai warriors were excused from patrolling for the three months prior to the birth of a child and for three months afterwards. 

“That is a good idea,” replied Jamila. “Zahara cannot object in that case. My lord is wise.”

“I will not enjoy being away from you and the children, kalila,” continued Ardeth. 

“It will be a nice change for you to be out in the desert with your men,” said Jamila. “And we shall have a special reunion when you return.” 

Ardeth stopped at Musaid’s tent on his way to get Sahmir and some of the other warriors together. “I am taking a company out on patrol,” he announced. “I leave the village in your capable hands.”

“Of course, Sayyid,” replied Musaid. “Is there anything special I should watch for?”

“Watch for crying babies,” said Ardeth with a smile. Then he turned and left before Musaid could ask what his Chieftain meant.

Once they were out in the desert, Ardeth turned to his men. “There has been some activity reported at the site of an ancient temple not far from here,” he said. This was not a place of much importance and there was little left of value there, having been looted numerous times over the millennia. However, the Medjai tried to keep such places as free from further desecration as possible.

As the Medjai band approached the temple, they saw an overturned car surrounded by a group of people. Ardeth lifted his hand and the black robed warriors came to a halt not far away. One of the people near the car turned in their direction and starting yelling in a language that was unfamiliar to Ardeth.

“Does anyone know what that man is saying?” asked Ardeth.

One of the younger warriors inched his horse forward. “I think he is speaking Russian, my lord. I met a Russian girl the last time I was in Cairo and can understand and speak a few words.”  
“Aiwa, like ‘spread you legs’ and ‘suck on this’” said one of the other warriors, earning a laugh from the other men.

“I always said please!” insisted the first warrior, taking the jibes in stride.

“Enough!” interrupted Ardeth. He turned to the man who had first spoken. “How do you say please in this language?”

“’Pozhaluista’, my lord.”

Ardeth rolled the unfamiliar word around on his tongue a few times. “Pozhaluista, pozhaluista,” he said. He unsheathed his scimitar and gave it to the nearest warrior. “Pozhaluista, keep this for me until I return,” he said with a smile. Then he clicked his heels against his horse’s flanks and set off.

The Russians, for they were indeed Russians, looked on with alarm as the black robed man came galloping into their midst. “Pozhaluista, pozhaluista,” said Ardeth, holding his hands out to indicate he was unarmed. Of course he was armed, but his weapons were well hidden beneath his robes.

When he dismounted, Ardeth noticed that the Russians were unsuccessfully attempting to move the car and saw there was a man pinned underneath it. He pointed to his men and by means of hand gestures and an occasional “pozhaluista” indicated that the Medjai were going to right the vehicle. A short whistle in the direction of his men brought them over to the scene of the accident, and within a few moments the car had been lifted off the injured man.

“When we examined the Russian,” continued Ardeth, “He was banged up and bruised, nothing serious except that his shoulder had a…..” Ardeth made a swinging motion with his arm. “Khale’. I am not certain what the English word is.”

“Dislocation,” supplied James. “Quite common in dogs and cattle as well. What did you do?”

“It is better to take care of such things immediately, so we did.” 

James could picture in his mind the Medjai warriors tugging on the man’s arm as if he were a wishbone on a Christmas turkey. “And were the Russians keen on that?” he asked.

“Not at first, but when the man’s arm was back where it belonged, they realized we meant them no harm.”

“I will never understand why people insist on bringing cars out into the desert,” the Medjai continued. “They are too prone to accidents and failure. A horse or even a camel is a much better choice.”

“What happened next?”

“We could not leave them out in the desert with no means of transportation, so we took them on our own horses back to Cairo.” Ardeth did not mention that if he had decided the Russians meant any harm, the outcome would have been vastly different.

“And the samovar?” asked James.

“Sometime later, when I was again in Cairo, a man arrived at the holding house from the Russian Embassy. Apparently the injured man was someone important, and the Ambassador wanted to thank us for saving him and his friends. There were also a number of bottles of vodka, which we of course refused.”

“Pity,” murmured James.

“I have an English friend who shares your love of spirits,” said Ardeth. “His name is Jonathan Carnahan. He owns a nightclub in London.”

“I’ll have to ring him up the next time I am there,” replied James. “Although other than my trip here, I rarely leave Yorkshire.”

Once the tea and cookies were gone, Ardeth gracefully rose from the stack of pillows on which he had been sitting. “Come, let us see if your tent is ready,” he said, helping James to his feet.

As they walked over to the tent which had been set up for the Englishman, Ardeth saw two boys coming towards them. “There is my son Kazeem and my brother Yusef,” he said. Upon seeing James’ quizzical look, he explained, “Yusef was a blessing from Allah for my parents.”

“And a surprise, too, I’ll wager,” replied James.

“Kazeem, Yusef, this is my friend James White,” said Ardeth when the boys came up to them. “We attended Oxford together. James, this is my brother Yusef and my son Kazeem.”

Both boys politely said hello, then Yusef turned to Ardeth. “My brother, our parents are expecting me so I will take my leave,” he said formally. He nodded to James. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” said Yusef, as he turned to leave.

“He’s usually much less, well, you know,” said Kazeem as he watched his uncle walk away. “It’s just that the girls have been giving him a hard time today.”

“How so?” asked Ardeth.

“They decided they wanted to practice being his wives and have been following him around, two steps behind him, since morning. This was the first time he has been able to get away from them all day and that’s only because they had promised to babysit for Zahara after class.”

Ardeth turned to James and noticed the confused expression on his face. “Young love,” said the Medjai, chuckling. “Sarra and Tali decided when they were four and Yusef was two that they were going to marry him. They are now twelve, only two years away from courting age, and have never wavered. According to Medjai custom, girls can marry at age sixteen and boys the same, after they receive their marks,” Ardeth gestured to the tattoos on his hands and face. “Although boys are encouraged to wait until the age of eighteen before taking a bride. So that means that there are at least six years before there will be a wedding.”

“I did not realize Medjai took more than one wife,” replied James.

“It is not our usual practice unless a woman’s husband dies, in which case his brother will normally take her as his second wife. However, in this case, I do not believe all the powers on earth could keep those three apart.”

“And what about you, Kazeem?” asked James. “Do you already have a bride picked out?”

Kazeem made a sour face. “I am much too young for that,” he announced. “Although Farris says my horse will sire many fine foals so when the time comes I will have enough horses to get a wife that befits a Medjai Chieftain, like my Ume.”

“James is a veterinarian, Kazeem,” said Ardeth. “Perhaps he would like to see your horse.”

“What is a veterinarian, Abu?”

“A healer of animals, the same as Saleemah is for people.”

Kazeem turned to James, “In your tribe, do the people not know how to care for their animals?”

“In many cases, they do,.” replied James. “But sometimes they do not know what they are doing, and they do more harm than good. That’s why being an MRCVS is so important.”

“What is an emarseevee-ess?” asked Kazeem.

“That stands for Member of the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons,” replied James. “I attended school, and after passing my exams and gaining the required experience, I was awarded that title.”

“My father has a title,” Kazeem said proudly. “He is Ardeth Bay, Ibn Humam, Ibn Solkar, and so forth. Commander of the First Tribe of the Medjai and Chieftain of all the Twelve Tribes of the Medjai.”

Ardeth tried to look humble, but it was apparent to James that he was proud of both who he was and how his son looked up to him.  
“I’ve heard your name before,” recalled James. “Your little sister was naming all her ancestors and she ended with a flourish and the name Kazeem.”

Kazeem laughed. “She’s only five, so once she gets past our great-grandfather, she just says Ibn Ibn Ibn until she gets to Kazeem. He was the commander of the Medjai under Pharaoh Seti, the one who…..” Kazeem trailed off, then hastily changed the subject. “My Abu can name fifty generations back and by the time I become Chieftain I will be able to do the same!” 

“So you are named after your grandfather,” James said brightly, wondering just what this ancient Kazeem had done but somehow knowing this was not a question he should ask. “That is also a custom in my country. I was named after my father and my son Jimmy is named after me.”

“Oh, you have a little boy at home?” asked Kazeem. “The next time you visit, you must bring him. Now, would you like to see my horse? You can make sure he is healthy, is that not so?” 

“Quite so,” replied James, picking up the satchel at his feet. Kazeem grabbed the Englishman’s other hand and began tugging him off in the direction of the stables.

“Please return here when you are finished,” Ardeth called after his son, indicating the newly erected tent. “And show him the bathing tent as you pass it.”

“Aiwa, father,” replied Kazeem, leading James away.

James was appropriately impressed with Twig, and even more impressed with Kazeem’s knowledge of how to properly care for the foal. “He’s a beautiful horse,” said James, running his hand over Twig’s flank. 

“He used to flinch when anyone touched him there,” said Kazeem. “I think the Bedouins that my father bought him from mistreated him.”

“Well he certainly looks happy and well cared for now,” replied James.

“Would you like to see my father’s horse?” asked Kazeem.

“Aren’t these all your father’s horses?” James indicated the row of stalls.

“Aiwa, but I mean Askari, his battle horse.” After whispering something to Twig, Kazeem led James out of the stall and to the paddock where Askari usually spent his days.

“What did you say to your horse?” James asked.

“I told him that I would be back later, and that, that I loved him. Do you think that’s silly?”

“Not at all. I think horses understand a lot more than some people give them credit for.”

Askari’s paddock was empty. Kazeem pointed to a gate towards the back. “I see Askari is earning his keep today,” he laughed, pointing to a group of mares in the area beyond the open gate. The boy leaned over the fence, put two fingers to his mouth, and made a shrill whistling sound. Almost immediately, the ground began to shake.

“Ah, here he comes,” said Kazeem, as the largest saddle horse James had ever seen galloped into view. Unconsciously, James began to back up, but Kazeem hopped over the fence and ran over to the horse. “Isn’t he wonderful?” asked Kazeem, stroking the large animal’s nose.

“Wonderful,” repeated James, warily eyeing the horse.

“He even lets me ride him,” said Kazeem. 

“Wonderful,” James said again, as the horse, having noticed an intruder, turned a malevolent eye on the Englishman.

“He will allow no one else to ride him but my Abu and me, and my Ume, but she always rides Shehzadi.” He turned to the big horse. “You like Shehzadi, don’t you?” he said. Askari snorted.

“He has given Shehzadi excellent foals,” explained Kazeem to James.

“I’m sure he has,” James replied, trying to gauge whether the fence around the paddock could really keep the horse contained. “You know, Kazeem, horses are more my partner’s specialty than mine.”

Kazeem laughed. “That’s alright, James White. Askari scares everyone. Don’t you, Askari?” 

Another snort from the horse caused James to back up yet another step.

“My father asked me to show you the bathing tent and then return to where you will be staying,” said Kazeem, taking pity on James. 

As they walked through the village, James noticed a delicious aroma coming from a large tent. “What’s in there?” he asked.

“That’s the kitchen tent,” replied Kazeem. “Not every family has a stove in their tent, and even though we do, my mother does her baking in one of the big ovens. The warriors who are staying in the barracks take their meals there. We can ask Abu if we can join them later, if you’d like.”

“Will your mother be insulted if we do that?” asked James, remembering how his housekeeper, and later his wife, would complain if he missed dinner without advance notice.

“I don’t think so. She’s used to my father missing meals when he has business to attend to. But you’re right, we should ask her first.”

When Kazeem and James arrived back at the tent that had been set up for James to use, James asked “Do we need to check back with your father?” 

Kazeem shook his head. As they had passed his family’s tent, Kazeem had seen that some warriors from one of the other tribes were inside. “My father is tending to some business right now,” he said. “I’m sure you are tired and thirsty. This would be a good time to take a nap before supper.” Kazeem showed James into the tent. 

James was pleasantly surprised to see that there was a stack of pillows, a bedroll, and a low table and chairs with the ubiquitous jug of water. “You should drink something,” instructed Kazeem.

“I think if I drink any more, I will float away,” James protested.

“This is the desert, James White. You must drink when you can or you will become…..” Kazeem thought a moment. “Saleemah taught us the word. Dehydrated?” 

“Saleemah. Is that your doctor, I mean healer?”

“Aiwa. My grandfather Humam sent her to medical school in Cairo. We are very lucky to have Saleemah in our village.”

James thought for a moment about what he knew of touching taboos among Arabs. “Is she allowed to treat the men as well as the women?” he asked.

Kazeem laughed. “Of course! What good would a healer be if she could not treat an injured warrior? Although, some of the older men pull their veils over their eyes when she examines them.” The boy covered his eyes with one hand, then peeked out through his fingers.

Lowering his hand, Kazeem looked around the tent in dismay. “I am sorry, James White,” he said. “I will have a pillow bed brought here for you. You do not need to sleep on a bedroll.”

“That’s alright,” replied James. “It will be like camping with the BBS again. When I was, oh, about your age, I belonged to a group called the British Boy Scouts. We used to go on camping trips, among other things.”

Kazeem’s eyes lit up. “Our novice warriors have to spend a night alone in the desert before they receive their marks,” he said. “They are taken out about a day’s ride from here, and have to make their way back to the village with only their horse, a water skin, and their scimitar. Were your camping trips like that?”

“Not quite,” admitted James. “We mostly went for hikes in the woods, and sat around the campfire and sang songs. Do all the novices all come back unharmed?”

“In the old times,” said Kazeem. “There would be boys who never returned. Now there are always warriors nearby in case something happens. The desert is a dangerous place. If a novice has to be rescued, he receives more training and then is sent out again.”

“Did your father have to go through this, too?”

“My Abu, because he was the future Chieftain, was taken a three day’s ride away. He returned in two days,” Kazeem said proudly.

“You have a lot to live up to,” said James.

“I have my father to teach me, and my grandfathers, and Musaid.”

“I’ve heard of Musaid,” said James. “He’s your father’s second-in-command, right?”

“Yes, I’m sure you will meet him while you are here, James White,” replied Kazeem.

“You know, Kazeem, you can just call me James. White is my last name, like Bay is yours.”

“Alright, James,” said Kazeem.

“I was wondering,” continued James. “It seems most of your people do not have last names, but your family does.”  
“That’s because the  
name Bay was given to my grandfather Kazeem by the Princess Nefertiri herself, as a reward. My Aunt Evie could explain its meaning to you better than me. You have seen the tattoo my Abu has on his back?”

“The one of the bird with the head of a man?”

“Aiwa, that is the ancient symbol for Ba. When I receive my marks, I will also receive that tattoo. Now you should rest.”

“Of course,” said James, bemused by the fact that he was taking orders from an eight year old boy.

“And drink water!” said Kazeem, as he left the tent.

James poured himself a glass of water. “Glad I was shown the loo,” he muttered, recalling the set of trenches behind the bathing tent. Then he lay down on the bedroll and within a few minutes was fast asleep.

It seemed almost immediately, but it was really a few hours later, when James was awakened by a knock on one of the poles that made up the door to the tent. Standing in the doorway were two black-robed Medjai, complete with scimitars and bandoleers. James scrambled to his feet in alarm.

The taller of the two warriors began to laugh. “Don’t worry, we’re not here to lop off your head. I’m Musaid, Sub-commander of the First Tribe…..”

“Oh yes, your Chieftain has spoken of you,” James said with relief, hoping he had spoken quickly enough to avoid a recitation of the man’s ancestry.

“And this,” said Musaid. “Is Natira, she-who-is-my-wife.”

James looked at the other tattooed warrior and realized that, despite his first impression, she was definitely a woman. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs……” James said.

Natira smiled. “Just Natira,” she said.

“Of course,” replied James.

“Our Chieftain asked us to see if there was anything you needed,” said Musaid.

“Everything is tip-top,” replied James. “By the way, where is Ar…I mean the Chieftain?” James had noticed that except for the few times he heard the Medjai’s given name spoken by Jamila, everyone else referred to him as Sayyid, my lord, or Chieftain.

“He’s helping in the training ring with some of the boys, including Kazeem and our own son,” said Natira. “Would you like to come watch?”

“That would be brilliant!” James exclaimed, remembering Ardeth’s skill with a blade. The Medjai had been captain of the fencing team at Oxford.

The training area was next to the barracks. James could see different age groups, from little boys to grown men, practicing hand-to-hand combat or sparring with weapons. Musaid and Natira led James over to a group of boys that were all apparently the same age as Kazeem. 

“There’s our son over there,” said Natira, pointing to a boy who was a bit shorter and heavier than Kazeem. 

When Benyamin saw his parents, he broke away from the group and ran over to them. “Abu! Ume!” Noticing James, Benyamin switched over to English. “Did you see me?”

“We’ve only just gotten here,” said Musaid. He turned to James. “James White, this is our son Benyamin. Benyamin, this is the Chieftain’s friend James White.” 

“Pleased to meet you,” said Benyamin. “Kazeem was telling me all about you. You are the healer of animals, right?”

James nodded. Apparently news traveled fast in the Medjai village. “What are you learning today?” he asked the boy.

“We are learning to draw our weapons. Our mo^allem says that if the Army of Anubis attacks, we will not be able to ask them to please wait while we pull our blades out of their scabbards.”

“What is this Army of Anubis?” James asked.

“Oh, just an old story used to scare the children,” said Natira, giving her son a pointed look.

“Well, I need to get back now,” Benyamin said. “Husam does not like it when we leave the class before he is done.” He turned and ran back to the group.

“Do the girls receive training, too?” asked James.

“I teach staff and small blade,” replied Natira. “It is not appropriate for girls to train with boys.”

“That never stopped you, my wife,” Musaid said teasingly.

“I was different.”

“And I thank Allah every day that you were,” said Musaid.

Musaid leaned over and whispered something in his wife’s ear, causing her to blush.

“I believe I will see where our Chieftain is,” said Natira.

After Natira left, Musaid, seeing James’ quizzical expression, laughed. “I told her I would give her a lesson in hand-to-hand combat later in the privacy of our tent,” the Medjai explained.

James reddened in embarrassment, but Musaid slapped him on the back. “Where do you think little Medjai come from?”

James turned and watched the boys. There was much pulling and tugging of practice swords from behind their backs, resulting in more than one flying through the air out of its owner’s grasp. The teacher, Husam, berated the boys. “Not like that! You are worse than a bunch of girls.” 

Husam turned to Musaid. “No offense meant to your wife,” he said.

Musaid dipped his head. “Just do not let her hear you say that,” he said with a smile.

Finally, with Husam’s assistance, each boy had managed to consistently get his blade out without dropping it, flinging it, or hitting himself with it. Husam announced that the class was over and the boys all lined up. One by one, each of the boys clasped wrists with their teacher and said something in Arabic.

“What are they saying?” asked James.

“They are thanking Husam for teaching them, and he is telling them that the honor is his to be their teacher,” replied Musaid. “Husam lost both his sons in battle. He considers these boys as his own family.” 

Just then, Natira returned with Ardeth.

“You look like you have been enjoying yourself, Sayyid,” said Musaid. Ardeth was shirtless, his sweat covered torso dotted with sand. The beginning of a bruise was forming on one of his arms.

“I needed to get out and do something after my meeting this afternoon. Sitting in my tent discussing petty problems with the commanders of the eleventh and twelfth tribes is not how I want to spend my day.”

“Are they still in the village?” Musaid looked around as if he expected them to pop up out of the ground.

“They finally left, thank Allah,” replied Ardeth. “Apparently the commander of the eleventh tribe wants his son to marry the daughter of the commander of the twelfth tribe but neither the prospective bride nor the prospective groom agree. Both commanders wanted me to step in and force the marriage.” Ardeth sighed, then turned to James. “Since my grandfather’s time, arranged marriages have fallen out of favor, but in some of the furthest tribes, it is still practiced. I told them that if they really wanted their children to wed, they should absolutely forbid them to see or speak to each other, then step back and see what happens.”

“That is why they came here rather than let their elders advise them,” said Musaid. “You always have a solution that others may not have seen.”

“Children can be like camels sometime,” replied Ardeth. “If you want them to go in one direction, you must pull them the opposite way.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” said James. He turned to the others. “My son Jimmy is getting to the age where his favorite word is ‘no’”.

“How old is he?” asked Natira.

“He’s four, and I have another one on the way,” said James with a smile.

“Children are Allah’s greatest blessing,” said Ardeth. The other three nodded in agreement.

“And here are our blessings now,” said Musaid, as Benyamin and Kazeem walked over to the adults.

“How was your class?” asked Ardeth. “I was working with some of the novices and did not have a chance to watch.”

“We can all manage to get our blades out without killing each other,” started Kazeem.

“Unless we want to!” finished Benyamin.

Ardeth looked at Musaid and an something unspoken passed between them. “Come boys, and show James what you can really do,” said the Chieftain.

Musaid was already taking off his robe and grabbing a practice sword. Soon the two pairs of fathers and sons were in the training ring.

“What are they going to do?” asked James.

“Just watch,” answered Natira.

What ensued was not so much a sparring session as a free-for-all. Although each man started off sparring with his own son, the two boys soon joined forces against Musaid, with Ardeth shouting encouragement from the sidelines. By the time they were done, all four combatants were covered with sand.

“James,” said Ardeth. “I understand you would like to have dinner with the warriors tonight.”

“I checked with Ume and she said it’s alright,” added Kazeem. “She said she was taking Yasmeen and Shareen to grandmother Fatima’s tonight for sewing lessons.”

“Oh that’s right!” exclaimed Natira. “I promised the girls I would bring them over, too.”

“What good is a wife who cannot sew, and can barely cook,” complained Musaid with a twinkle in his eye.

“I can repair a saddle and sew you up when you are wounded, and that is enough,” retorted Natira. “As for cooking, you would not know the difference between field rations and a meal fit for a Pharaoh. Besides, you did not marry me for my sewing or cooking.”

Musaid turned to the other men. “She vexes me so, but what am I to do?” Then he laughed, and Natira laughed, too. 

Ardeth turned to James. “This is just a game they play, James,” he said. “Musaid met Natira in the training ring, and they are well matched in every way.”

“Musaid,” asked Ardeth. “As long as your lady wife has other plans, would you and Benyamin like to join us for supper?”

Musaid looked down at his son, who was emphatically nodding his head. “Thank you, my lord,” he replied.

The two boys looked at each other happily.

“Go get cleaned up, boys,” said Ardeth. “You cannot have supper looking like sand balls.”

“May we go down to the stream?” asked Kazeem.

“Very well, but make sure to take one of the warriors with you.” Ardeth turned to James. “We had some trouble a short while ago and the stream is at the edge of the village,” he explained.

Kazeem looked like he was about to object, but thought better of it. “Aiwa, father,” he said, then he and Benyamin left.

“You have a stream here?” asked James. “But you’re in the middle of the desert!”

“This place was known to our people for many years,” explained Ardeth. “I believe thousands of years ago it was actually some sort of settlement. You saw the broken pillars when you entered the village?”

James nodded.

“We think there was once a wall around at least part of the oasis,” Ardeth continued. “When the Medjai decided to cease our nomadic lifestyle, this was the perfect site for our first village.”

“Those wells you saw,” added Musaid. “Were already here, although over time we have expanded them. And the stream was here, as well as some land that had long ago been cultivated.”

“I always thought an oasis was a tiny spot of green in the desert,” said James.

“Many are,” said Ardeth. “But there are also a number that can support whole villages, and more. Each of the twelve tribes has settled on its own oasis. This is not by any means the largest one, just the first.”

“And archaeologists don’t come digging around here for mummies and the like?” asked James.

“Strangers are not allowed here,” said Ardeth flatly.

“Well, I can imagine that a company of armed men would deter them,” said James.

Ardeth, Musaid, and James proceeded to the men’s bathing tent. James was fascinated with the showers, which consisted of a bag made out of some part of a camel (James was afraid to ask which part) and a long hose. The bag was filled with water and left out in the sun to warm up. To take a shower, a person need only take a bag, hang it from one of the hooks in the bathing tent, and release the leather tie at the end of the hose, which would allow the user to direct the water where he or she wanted it to go. Ardeth showed James the wooden troughs in the ground that carried the used water out to large holding tanks where it could then be used to irrigate the crops. 

“Desert people value water, not gold,” said Ardeth. “We do not waste it.”

When they were done, Ardeth led James over to the well that was near the bathing tents. “Even the Chieftain must refill the bladder for the next person,” he said, showing James what to do.

“I have many clients who do not have showers in their houses,” remarked James. “They take a bath, when they do take a bath, in a tub in the kitchen.”

“You know,” James continued. “When we were at school and I found out you were a desert Chieftain, I pictured you in a tent, relaxing on a pile of pillows, smoking a hookah, surrounded by dancing girls.”

“Not refilling a camel bladder?” asked Ardeth. “My father taught me that a good leader should not expect his men to do anything he would not do himself. Although the dancing girls sound interesting.” 

“Aiwa, you should speak to the Lady Jamila about that,” cut in Musaid. 

“Perhaps I will,” Ardeth mused, imagining his wife dancing for him wearing nothing more than a few strategically placed scarves.

“Your father sounds like a wise man,” said James, breaking Ardeth out of his reverie.

“Aiwa, I will bring you to meet him tomorrow. He spent today judging disputes in the Elders’ Tent and is not up for visitors tonight. You may remember that my father had his leg crushed by a horse when I was at Oxford.”

“I do remember that,” answered James. “That was why you left so suddenly.”

“Aiwa, and even though he is still able to walk and even ride, he has taken to using a staff lately and he tires easily.”

“I understand,” said James. “My father was a ship plater and many of his chums had accidents on the job.”

Musaid had walked a little ahead during this conversation.

“Musaid’s father was killed in battle when Musaid was younger than Kazeem,” Ardeth explained. “His mother, who has since joined him in Paradise, did not remarry. Musaid was my best friend even then, so my father took an interest in him and trained us together. The loss of his father still saddens him.”

“Of course,” said James. “I keep hearing the term ‘killed in battle’. Is that a common occurrence?”

“More common than I would prefer. My own father had Allah watching over him,” replied Ardeth. “Come, let us catch up with Musaid. The boys should be done with their so-called baths.” Ardeth walked up to Musaid and, putting his arm around the other man’s shoulder, said something too softly for James to hear. Musaid nodded, then turned back to James.  
“I was thinking about my father, may Allah grant him Aljannat Firdaus,” said Musaid. “The Sayyid reminds me that those that have gone before are watching over us, and it our duty to pass on their teachings to our own children.”

“What does Aljannat Firdaus mean?” asked James.

“I believe your word for it would be Heaven,” answered Musaid. In Our Language, the word is Sto'Vo'Kor.”

“I’m sure if you father was anything like you, he is there,” said James. He really did not know Musaid well enough to have any opinion on the matter, but he wanted to make the Medjai feel better.

“Shukran, James White, I pray you are right,” said Musaid.

Benyamin and Kazeem were waiting at Ardeth’s tent, and the men and boys made their way to the kitchen tent.

“What is that delicious aroma?” asked James, as the group found seats at one of the low tables that were arranged in rows in the large tent.

“That is Layla’s special stew,” replied Ardeth. “She always cooks it when a group of men come back from patrol.”

An older woman approached the table accompanied by a young girl. Both carried bowls of stew and stacks of fragrant dukka bread. They served Ardeth first.

“Shukran,” said Ardeth. He ripped of a piece of the bread dipped it into the bowl, and took a bite. “Delicious as always,” he said to the women.

Layla smiled and the two women served the others.

“Shukran, Ume Layla,” said Musaid, and the two boys echoed his words. Even James tried a ‘shukran’, much to the smiles of his seatmates.

“Why do you call her Ume Layla?” asked James, when the women had left. “I’m learning to understand a little Arabic, and I thought Ume meant mother.”

“Layla’s husband and sons were killed in battle,” began Ardeth. 

James briefly sighed at the phrase ‘killed in battle’. If anyone noticed, no one said anything.

“She could have gone to live with her sister’s family in another tribe,” continued Ardeth. “But she wanted to stay here. She was known for her cooking skills, so my father arranged for her to run the kitchen.”

“Many of the young warriors are away from home for the first time,” Musaid added. “And Layla treats them as if they were her own sons. That’s why they call her Ume Layla.” Musaid chuckled. “Even I got into that habit, much to the dismay of my own Ume.”

“What about all the serving girls?” asked James. “Are they servants?”

Both Ardeth and Musaid laughed.

“Far from it,” said Ardeth. “Medjai seldom have servants. The girls vie with each other for the privilege of serving the warriors. It is a good way for them to meet each other in a properly chaperoned setting.”

“Many romances have started over a bowl of stew,” added Musaid. He indicated a young warrior deep in conversation with one of the girls. “If I’m not mistaken, I believe we may be attending a wedding soon,” he said.

“I know her family,” said Ardeth, looking at the girl more closely. “She has three younger sisters. Her father has always wished for a son.”

“It looks like he’ll be getting one soon,” replied Musaid. He turned to the two boys. “It won’t be long before you two will be attracting the girls’ attention.”

Kazeem and Benyamin looked at each other in consternation. Musaid laughed at their expressions. “Don’t worry, not too soon.”

After dinner, Ardeth invited James back to his tent. “We shall have coffee, or tea if you wish,” said the Medjai. 

There were two Medjai warriors standing at parade rest in front of Ardeth’s tent. “I see my lady wife has returned from her Ume’s,” said Ardeth. Especially at night, the Medjai Chieftain did not allow his wife or children out without protection, even in the relative safety of the village.

Jamila came out of Yasmeen’s sleeping area smiling. Her hair was up and held in place by a decorated comb and her she had replaced her homespun tunic and trousers with a lapis colored outfit made out of some soft fabric. “Our little princess pricked her finger on a needle,” she said. “She decided she was Sleeping Beauty and had to go to bed immediately.”

Ardeth laughed. “I see my father has been reading Grimm to her again.” He turned to James. “My father has become an avid reader since his retirement. One of his favorite pastimes is reading to the children.”

James turned to Kazeem. “And what is your favorite book?” he asked.

Kazeem thought for a moment. “Sun-Tzu,” he finally said. 

James had heard of The Art of War but had never read it. “That’s a wee bit heavy for me,” he said. “Although I do tend to read veterinary texts to Jimmy when he can’t fall asleep. He’s usually out before I can finish the first page.”

“Perhaps he will become a healer of animals like you,” said Kazeem.

“I think I would like that,” replied James.

Ardeth reached over and ruffled his son’s hair. “It is good when a son follows the path of his father,” he said affectionately. 

Kazeem began to twist away from his father’s hand, but stopped when he saw the expression of love in Ardeth’s eyes. “May I go see to Twig before it gets too dark?” he asked. 

Ardeth patted his son on the shoulder. “Of course,” he replied. “Take one of the warriors with you.” 

“Shukran, father,” Kazeem said, as he left the tent. 

“Kazeem is getting to that age,” sighed Ardeth. “He insists that does not want to be cuddled, so I must make do with a more ‘manly’ warrior’s embrace. But sometimes, he still climbs into bed between my lady wife and myself when bad dreams disturb his sleep.”

“And the little one?”

“Yasmeen does not have bad dreams. She would not allow them,” Ardeth said with a smile.

“The midwife insists my wife Helen is carrying a girl,” confided James. “I hope she will be as formidable as your daughter.”

“Or not,” replied Ardeth. Both men laughed.

Jamila came in with a tray holding cups of tea and a plate of something James was surprised to see.

“McVities!” he exclaimed. “Where did you get those in the middle of the desert?”

“Our friends the O’Connells regularly send us packages from England,” replied Jamila. “My lord has developed a special fondness for the chocolate ones” she said, smiling at Ardeth.

Jamila’s smile faltered as she noticed her husband’s hair. Ardeth wore his shoulder length dark hair loose, and tonight it was a mass of tangles. “You bathed and did not brush your hair afterwards,” Jamila scolded.

“Forgive me, my wife, we were in a hurry to get to dinner.”

Jamila had already gone into their sleeping area and returned with a wide toothed comb. She knelt behind Ardeth and began detangling his hair. 

Ardeth winked at James. “She will take any excuse to do this,” he said.

“If you do not sit still, I will cut it off!” remonstrated Jamila. But she leaned over and placed a kiss on the top of her husband’s head.

Eventually, the tea and cookies were consumed and Ardeth’s hair was combed to Jamila’s satisfaction.

“It is my turn, kalila,” he said. 

As they made to switch places, James cleared his throat. “I think I will go back to my tent, if you don’t mind. It’s been a long day.” To James, it seemed like he was intruding on a private moment.

Ardeth had already removed the comb and began to remove the pins that held his wife’s long hair in place. “The warrior outside will accompany you,” he said offhandedly, paying more attention to Jamila than to his friend.

As James returned to his own tent, he turned to the warrior beside him. “Your Chieftain is very…..” he did not know how to complete the sentence.

“My lord takes what he desires,” replied the Medjai. He had stood guard outside of Ardeth’s tent many nights, and he knew what the Englishman referred to. Personally, the young warrior envied his Chieftain and hoped he himself would someday also have a beautiful wife that would desire him as much as the Lady Jamila seemed to desire her husband. 

Back in Ardeth’s tent, the Medjai Chieftain was enjoying the way his wife’s hair cascaded down her back in an ebony wave. “I am glad you keep your hair pinned up,” he said, running his fingers through it. “It gives me pleasure to know that I am the only one who is allowed to touch you in this way.”

“Would you like it,” said Jamila, leaning back in her husband’s arms. “If when the weather gets hot I got lots of tiny brains and then tied them back, like our ancestors did?”

“No,” replied Ardeth. “That would deny me the enjoyment of doing this.” 

“Does my lord forbid it?” Jamila said teasingly.

“Aiwa, I forbid it,” replied Ardeth seriously.

“Oh good, now I don’t have to sit still for hours while the twins braid my hair. I was looking for an excuse and now I can tell them that my lord forbids it. Although,” Jamila said thoughtfully, “I might let them do it if there was a celebration. Would that be alright?”

“Jamila, everything you do pleases me. You know that.”

From her bed, Yasmeen woke to the sound her parents softly talking and her mother’s giggle. Remembering the picture of the blonde, blue eyed Prince Charming in her grandfather’s book of fairy tales, she thought to herself “When my prince comes to find me I hope he is just like my Abu.” Then, snuggling into her pillows, she fell back to sleep.

..oo00oo..

The next morning after breakfast, Ardeth brought James to meet his parents. 

“This is my friend James from England,” the Medjai announced as they entered his parents’ tent.

“Let me go make some tea and set out some of those pastries from Abdul’s,” said Amira, Ardeth’s mother, after they were all introduced.

“Why is everyone always feeding me?” asked James.

Amira laughed. “Here in the desert, one never knows where the next meal will come from. Even though we now have crops cultivated and goats for milk and meat, we still honor the old ways. Especially with visitors. Do you not like our food?” Amira said with a concerned expression.

“No, no, it’s all delicious,” protested James. “A bit more spicy than I am used to, almost like Indian food.”

The Medjai all looked at each other and Ardeth glanced at the faint scar on his hand, a reminder that he and Rick O’Connell were ‘blood brothers’.

James had recently heard a very sanitized story of Ardeth’s and Rick’s adventures, and he understood the confusion. “Indian food like from India,” he said, pointing to what he hoped was the direction of that country. “It’s a country. They have, let’s see, elephants. It’s hot like here but there are jungles instead of deserts.”

Ardeth said something to his parents in what James had begun to recognize as the language the Medjai sometimes used to talk among themselves. There were a few words common to Arabic, such as ‘la’ for ‘no’, and even some words that were common to Hebrew, such as ‘ken’ for ‘yes’. The rest was unintelligible to James, although he did hear the words Am Shere spoken by both Ardeth and his father.

“I remember an Indian restaurant we went to a few times in Soho,” said Ardeth, turning to his friend.

James laughed. “Yes, the place that was off limits for students because of the…..other activities.”

“Did you take participate in those ‘other activities’?” Humam asked his son with a smile.

Ardeth turned to his father with a mock scowl. “That is not a question one asks of a married man,” he said. 

“Ah,” his father replied. “But you were not married then, my son.”

Ardeth leaned over to his father. “I will tell you sometime when there are no women present,” he whispered.

Amira cleared her throat. “You, my husband,” she said to Humam, “will put all thoughts of Indian restaurants right out of your mind.” 

The three men looked at Amira with expressions like three little boys who had been caught doing something naughty. Amira smiled and went over to where her husband was seated. “I will get the tea,” she said, kissing him on the top of his head. 

As they drank their tea and ate some of the pastries that Amira had recently received from Cairo, James was struck by the resemblance between Ardeth and Humam. They were both of the same muscular build, although Ardeth was a bit taller. They both had thick black hair; Ardeth’s was long and wavy and Humam’s was short and curly. Of course, they were both adorned with the tattoos common to all Medjai warriors their faces and hands. James and Ardeth had gone swimming on occasion, so James knew the Chieftain also had tattoos on his arms, torso, and legs. He assumed Humam was similarly decorated. But the most striking similarity between the two men was in their eyes. Even as a student, Ardeth had the ability to stop a person in his tracks with just a stare. James knew from spending time in the Medjai village that those eyes, which could appear so cold and piercing one moment, could be soft and warm the next, especially when Ardeth directed his gaze at his family. James had heard tales about Humam’s exploits in battle and knew he was renowned as a fierce warrior. Now that he was sitting across from the older man, James could see a gentle side that was also present in Ardeth. 

“Where are my grandchildren?” Humam asked, as the men were finishing their refreshments.

“I believe they are both with Zahara,” answered Ardeth. “Since Yasmeen spends so much time there with Shareen, Zahara decided that they were ready to sit in on classes. It will be good when our daughter learns to read English. You know, Abu, you have caused much trouble reading to her.”

“How have I done that?” asked Humam.

“After you read Sleeping Beauty to her, she decided she was a princess just like Briar Rose. Last night at Fatima’s she accidentally poked herself with a needle and had to be brought home immediately. Then this morning, she said she could not wake up until she was kissed by a handsome prince!”

Humam was smiling. “I take it a handsome prince came to her rescue?”

“Of course,” replied Ardeth, recalling the way Yasmeen had hugged him and kissed him on the cheek when he got her out of bed earlier.

Suddenly there was a commotion outside the tent, and a man came rushing in.

“Sayyid!” said the man, looking at Humam. Then noticing Ardeth, the man dipped his head. “Sayyid,” he repeated. “I am sorry to interrupt you.”

“What is wrong, Fouad?” asked Ardeth.

“My daughter! She is gone!” answered Fouad, waving his hands around. “When my family woke this morning, my eldest daughter Fariza was missing!” 

Fouad noticed James and his demeanor changed. “Good morning,” he said calmly. “You must be our Chieftain’s friend the healer of animals. I am Fouad. Are you enjoying your visit here?” 

James nodded distractedly.

Fouad turned to Ardeth. “As I was saying….” He took a deep breath and began again. “My daughter! She is gone! When my family woke this morning, my eldest daughter Fariza was missing!” 

Ardeth and Humam looked at each other. 

“When did you last see her?” asked Ardeth.

“Last night, when she went to serve dinner.” Fouad said. “She never returned. It must be that boy Azim! We allowed him to visit Fariza in our tent and now he has taken her!”

“Calm down, Fouad,” said Ardeth. “We will go and rescue her.” He turned to his father. “Would you like to come along, Abu?”

“My rescuing days are over, at least until the princess needs to be rescued,” replied Humam. “Why don’t you take the Englishman?”

“Well, I…..” James stammered, totally confused by Humam’s last statement.

“Would that be alright with you?” Ardeth asked Fouad.

“Yes, yes, of course,” replied the distraught man. “But we must hurry! We can only imagine what Azim has done to her!” Fouad rushed out of the tent with Ardeth and James following.

After they left, Amira turned to her husband. “I can only imagine what Azim is doing to that girl,” she said teasingly.

“Come here, my wife, and I will show you,” replied Humam.

Once they were at the stables, Ardeth indicated one of the newer horses to Bashir. “Please saddle that one for my friend,” he instructed. He turned to James. “That one is accustomed to an English style bridle. We use bitless bridles on the horses that we breed ourselves. I assume you would feel more comfortable with the type you are used to.” 

“That would be fine,” replied the Englishman, mystified by the fact 

that Ardeth was calmly discussing bridle styles when a girl’s safety was at stake.

James looked around and noticed Fouad and a group of other warriors had already gathered on horseback. Fouad no longer looked hysterical. In fact, he was joking with his comrades.

“Shouldn’t we be hurrying?” said James.

“Do not worry, James,” answered Ardeth. “We know where we are going.”

“We do?” 

“Of course,” the Medjai replied. He rode to the head of the group.

“Yalla! Imshi!” he cried, and the horsemen rode off into the desert.

Jamila had been in her mother’s tent when she heard the commotion. As she looked out to see her husband ride away, she turned to Fatima. “I think I will be getting those braids soon,” she said with a smile.

“And I have a robe to finish!” answered her mother. “Come, let me show you. It’s going to be yellow, with an orange sash.”

Jamila made a face.

“I know,” said Fatima. “That’s not my taste, either, but it’s what Fariza asked for. She says Azim tells her that her smile is like the sun, so she wanted those colors in her robe.”

“I’m sure it will be beautiful, Ume.” 

An hour’s ride out in the desert, James was surprised to see a wadi with a small tent pitched nearby. As far as he was concerned, the group of Medjai had been riding out into emptiness. “How did you know that they would be here?” he asked Ardeth.

Ardeth turned to his friend. “Azim told one of his friends of his plan,” he said. “Now you must be quiet, and not ask questions, and all will be revealed.”

Fouad had leaped off of horse and was standing in front of the tent, brandishing his scimitar.

“My daughter! She is gone! When my family woke this morning, my eldest daughter Fariza was missing!” he shouted.

James realized that he had already heard Fouad say the exact same words twice before and turned to Ardeth. “What…..” he began.

Ardeth placed his fingers to his lips. “Sshh,” he remonstrated.

Fouad glanced sharply at James, then continued. “I know you are in there, you motherless cur! You have stolen my child and defiled her! For that you must die!”

James looked around in alarm. The other men were still on their horses, none of them looking alarmed in the least. 

After a few minutes, while Fouad continued to rant about his daughter and the rest of the warriors sat calmly on their horses, Azim came out of the tent.

“I have taken this woman according to the old ways,” he began. Then he saw Ardeth. “Sayyid!” he exclaimed, losing his train of thought.

“Continue,” said Ardeth, with a stern expression.

Azim took a deep breath and started over. “I have taken this woman according to the old ways.”

James heard one of the warriors mumble “I thought it was supposed to be ‘our’ old ways,” followed by a grunt as the warrior was punched in the arm by one of the other riders. 

“She is no longer a girl, she is my wife,” finished Azim. The young warrior looked at Ardeth with a shaky smile.

But Fouad was not done. He turned to the other Medjai. “We took this boy in when he was far from his own tribe. We allowed him to share our food and even to court my precious daughter. And now he has taken her for his own depraved purposes. He has dishonored his marks and I demand he be punished.” He turned to Ardeth. “Sayyid, I beg you order this worthless whelp to return my beloved daughter to me.”

“Azim,” said Ardeth. “Please ask Fariza to come out.”

Azim turned back into the small tent and came back out hand-in-hand with Fariza.

“Father!” said Fariza, trying to look surprised. “Why are you here with all these men?”

“I am here to bring you home,” Fouad replied.

“My home is here, with my husband,” replied Fariza. “I love him with all my heart.” 

“And I love Fariza,” declared Azim. “I promise to keep her and protect her according to our customs.”

Fouad grumbled a bit, then finally said, “Well if that is what you want.”

After that, the other riders dismounted and congratulated the couple. Fouad was all smiles. “He is a good boy,” Fouad said to Ardeth and James. “He respects the old ways. And now I finally have a son.”

“There is only one problem, Fouad,” said Ardeth.

Fouad’s face fell. “Problem, Sayyid? What problem?”

“Now that Fariza is married, there will be one fewer girl working in the kitchen tent,” Ardeth said with a smile. He knew Fariza would go with Azim when he returned to his own tribe.

“Sayyid, that is no problem at all,” replied Fouad, smiling broadly. “I have three other daughters who will soon be of age. I can only hope that they make as good a match as Fariza did.”

During the ride back to the village, Ardeth explained to James what had just transpired.

“In the old times,” Ardeth began, “when the tribes were small, it was the custom to take a bride from a different tribe. It cemented alliances and helped make sure that the children would be healthy.”

James nodded. He understood how a culture as knowledgeable about horse breeding as the Medjai would apply the same principles to ensure that their own children would not suffer from birth defects.

“In those days,” continued Ardeth. “The Medjai sometimes engaged in what has been called ‘bride stealing’ by outsiders. In truth, the bride and groom almost always knew each other and there was no actual stealing going on. Occasionally a man would take a woman without her permission and her father would have to rescue her. Over time, what you saw today became a tradition, with everyone playing a role. Of course, the woman still has the opportunity to say she was taken against her will and return home with her father, but I do not recall that happening in my lifetime.”

“And if she did?” asked James.

“Then the prospective groom’s blood would water the sand,” replied the Medjai. “It is our way.”

James decided to change the subject. “How long will they stay out in the desert?” he asked.

“A few days,” said Ardeth. “They will have the time alone to get to know each other as husband and wife. There is not a lot of privacy in our village. When they return home the couple will be considered married by Medjai custom, but later there will be an actual wedding according to our Muslim faith. And,” continued Ardeth. “I expect my lady wife will have her hair braided for the occasion. Over time, I have learned to compromise.”

James laughed. “You should meet my wife Helen,” he said. “I sometimes think ‘compromise’ is my middle name.” James then went on to tell Ardeth about items he had purchased at jumble sales, which always ended up down in the cellar. “I wager you’ve bought some strange things from traveling caravans,” added James.

Ardeth thought about how he ‘purchased’ his wife and smiled. Although that story was well known among the Medjai, Ardeth would not share it with an outsider without Jamila’s permission. “Aiwa,” he said. “You never know what might come across your path.”

“Well it all seems like a very romantic way to start a marriage,” said James. 

Upon their return to the village, Ardeth and James were greeted by a group of children.

“You already know Kazeem and Yasmeen,” Ardeth said, indicating his son and daughter.

“And Benyamin,” added James. 

“These are Benyamin’s two sisters, Sarra and Tali,” said Ardeth. “And I believe you’ve met my brother Yusef.”

James looked over to where Yusef and the two girls were standing together and smiled, remembering what Kazeem had said about them. “Marhaban,” he said, pleased to be able to great them in Arabic.

“And this little one,” the Medjai continued. “Is Yasmeen’s friend Shareen.” James looked down to see Yasmeen tugging a little girl over to the men.

“She’s shy,” proclaimed Yasmeen. “Not like me.”

“I do not believe she has ever seen an Englishman up close,” Ardeth whispered to his friend.

James squatted down. “I understand you have some new baby goats,” he said softly. Shareen nodded, keeping hold of Yasmeen’s hand. “Do you think we could see them?” Another nod, and this time a shy smile graced the girl’s face.

James turned to Ardeth. “If I can get my bag from my tent, I will be able to vaccinate the kids.”

Ardeth turned to the children. “You know that James is a healer of animals,” he said. The children nodded. “He has some special, herbs to give the goats that will prevent them from getting sick.”

“Will it hurt them?” asked Shareen, her concern for the goats overriding her shyness.

“”It’s just a little prick with a needle and I am sure they will protest, but it will prevent them from getting sick in the future,” replied James.

Shareen nodded solemnly. “I don’t want them to get sick,” she said.

James retrieved his bag and the group proceeded to the pen where the does and kids were being kept.

“Nubians!” James exclaimed to the children. “They have lovely soft ears, don’t they. And such pretty colours.” He turned to Ardeth. “Back in England, there has been an influx of pygmies.”

An alarmed expression crossed the Medjai’s face. “Pygmies?”

“Yes,” replied James. “Pygmy goats are much smaller and easier to keep for pensioners and others with little land.”

“Ah, pygmy goats!” responded Ardeth, quite relieved, as he tried to banish visions of pygmy mummies from his head.

James vaccinated the kids and does with the assistance of the older children. Yasmeen and Shareen spent most of their time hugging, or at least trying to hug the kids after James injected them. By the time James was done, Ardeth could feel a headache coming on due to the incessant bleating.

“Is your job always this chaotic?” the Medjai asked his friend, watching the children chase the goats around.

James laughed. “Goats do have a loud way of making their displeasure known,” he said. “But at least you don’t get a tail full of muck in your face or your foot trampled as you do with cows.”

“Goats are much more suited to the desert anyway,” James continued. “I brought that vaccine with me assuming you would have them. It’s different that the one we use on cattle.”

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” replied Ardeth. “It is important to us that our animals are healthy.”

“Well between what your man Farris has told me and what I have seen, your goats are all tip-top, so you must be doing something right. The fact that they are not in contact with other herds helps.”

“We have enough bucks to avoid inbreeding,” Ardeth replied. “Although they do smell terrible and can be quite stubborn.”

James laughed. “Even among us vets, it’s agreed that nothing smells worse than a wet buck in rut.”

The rest of the day passed quickly and after dinner, James went back to his tent to pack.

“James must return to Cairo tomorrow,” Ardeth said to Jamila. “I have decided to accompany him. Would it please you to join us?” 

“Aiwa,” replied Jamila. “It will give me a good opportunity to get something for Fariza and Azim’s wedding. I’m sure I can find someone to keep track Kazeem and Yasmeen.”

“I was thinking that we might take Kazeem with us. He and James have developed quite a friendship.”

“Of course, I’m sure Kazeem would enjoy a trip to Cairo,” Jamila said. “When he comes back from bedding down his horse I’ll help him get a few things together.” Even though Medjai travelled light, Jamila always made sure to pack a change of clothes and other items she considered essential.

..oo00oo..

The next morning, Ardeth, Jamila, James, an excited Kazeem, and two young warriors set off across the desert. Ardeth had decided to ride Askari, saying “He needs a chance to stretch his legs.” 

Jamila’s horse was in foal and remained in the village. “She looks sad to see me leave without her,” said Jamila as she mounted one of Ardeth’s other horses. Both Kazeem and James were also riding horses from the Medjai Chieftain’s herd. 

“Soon,” said Kazeem. “Twig will be big enough to ride.” 

“Not for a few years,” admonished Ardeth. 

James was glad to hear that. He felt sorry for the horses he sometimes encountered whose health had been ruined because they were ridden too young. “You’ll have plenty of time to train him before he’s ready to be ridden. Horses that are trained to follow their owner out of respect are much more enjoyable than those that follow out of fear.”

Ardeth patted Askari’s neck. “I do not think this one has ever been afraid of anything,” he said.

About half-way to Cairo, as the group passed by an outcropping of rocks, shots rang out. The two warriors who were riding ahead fell to the ground and the others and the rest of the party was surrounded by a band of armed men before Ardeth had a chance to draw his own weapon. 

Jamila looked at her husband in panic. “Take the woman!” shouted the leader. “And that one,” he said, pointing at Ardeth. “I have special plans for him.” Turning to Ardeth, he said, “If you come quietly, the woman will live for now. If not, I will kill her before your eyes as you killed my brother.”

Ardeth could not recall having killed anyone lately. Looking more closely at the men, he realized they were probably from the same group of Bedouins who had visited the village a few months ago. “What about the others?” he asked, trying to sound calm. 

“The boy and the Englisher? We have no use for them. We will leave them here. But we will take your horses.”

With that, two of the other men dragged Ardeth off Askari and disarmed him, but when the Bedouins went to grab the horse’s reins, Askari reared up, hooves flashing, and galloped off. “Never mind that one,” said the leader. “A horse that willful is of no use to us anyway. I don’t know why my brother wanted him anyway.”

Jamila was pulled off her horse, but when one of the men went to search her, the leader spoke. “Our orders are to leave her be. The shakh wants her for himself. Besides, what kind of weapon would a woman carry?”

The man holding Jamila pointed to her bracelets. “Can we at least take these?” he asked. “They must be worth a lot.”

“Take what you want, but leave the woman untouched,” replied the leader.

The other man pulled the bracelets off Jamila’s wrists, stroking her arms as he did so, and put the gold cuffs in a pouch attached to his belt. Jamila spat at him.

“You should be thankful it is our shakh you are meant for, and not me,” the Bedouin said, wiping his face. “He is old, and more inclined to be indulgent than I would be. But perhaps he will give you to me when he is done with you.”

At that moment, the Bedouin leader noticed what was going on. “Tahnoon!” he yelled. “Leave the girl alone and get over here.” 

Tahnoon looked at the gold belt Jamila wore around her waist. “Maybe later I shall enjoy removing that from your body,” he said as he reluctantly walked back to the others.

Meanwhile, Kazeem and James had been tied together to a scraggly tree which was nearby. “You’ll be food for the jackals before long,” sneered their captor.

“Now get their horses and let’s get out of here!” ordered the leader. Ardeth’s and Jamila’s hands were tied and they were forced up behind two Bedouin riders. As the group set off across the desert, Ardeth turned to Kazeem and said a few words. The boy nodded.

“Silence!” said the rider in front of Ardeth. “I’ll cut your tongue out and feed it to my dog if you speak again.”

Once the Bedouins and their captives were gone, James twisted around so he was facing Kazeem. “I did not understand most of what they said, but this is not good.”

“My father said something to me in Our Language as they left. He said ‘Live today, fight tomorrow’. He knows we are going to go and save them.”

“How are we going to save them? We are tied to a tree, in the middle of the desert, with no way to get loose, and no way to go anywhere even if we do get loose. This is bollocks!”

Kazeem had been wiggling around and suddenly as if by magic a knife appeared in his hand. “I’m just a little boy,” he said with a small smile. “I would not be allowed to carry a weapon. At least, that’s what those Bedouins thought.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have another one of those, would you?” asked James, as Kazeem finished cutting the ropes that bound the two of them.

“Wait until Askari gets back. I am sure there is something in his saddlebags.”

“Askari? He’s gone. He’s probably as lost as we are.”

“James White, we are not lost. Askari is not lost. And we are going to go save my parents!” With that, Kazeem put two fingers up to his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. Almost immediately there was a cloud of dust a short way off. “See, here he comes.”

Askari came to a halt close to Kazeem and James. James unconsciously backed away.

“You are going to have to get used to him,” Kazeem admonished James. “We are both going to have to ride him together.”

“Can’t you just go back to the village and get help? I can wait here,” said James. “And what about them?” James pointed to the two warriors’ bodies nearby.

Kazeem walked over to the bodies and removed something from around the neck of each, whispering what James assumed was some sort of prayer. When he came back to James, Kazeem said, “I will return their amulets to their families. We do not have time for a funeral pyre right now and we do not have time to go back to the village. We must follow the tracks the Bedouins have made, but not so closely that they can see us.”

James looked out into the desert. As far as he could tell, there were no tracks; there was only sand extending in every direction.

Kazeem walked over to Askari and the great horse lowered his head. “Now Askari,” Kazeem began. “Abu and Ume are in trouble. They are counting on us to go and save them. And you need to let James ride you. Do you understand?”

Askari tossed his head.

Kazeem turned to James with a smile. “See, he understands. It will be alright.” Kazeem started rummaging through the horse’s saddlebags. “Do you know how to shoot?” he asked James, pulling out a rifle. “Or would you rather have this?”

James recalled the class where the boys were learning to pull their weapons out of their scabbards. Apparently Kazeem had been paying attention to his teacher, as a wicked looking scimitar was smoothly drawn out of its leather sheath.

“I’ve shot, but I’ve never shot a person before,” said James. “And I’ve certainly never used one of those,” he said indicating the scimitar.

“Well then, the rifle it is,” said Kazeem, handing the gun to James. “I have never actually shot a gun before, but I know what to do with this.” Kazeem swung the blade around in a figure eight. “Do not worry, James. There are only six of them, and three of us, and two of us are Medjai. 

“Kazeem, you are a little boy, I am a country vet, and your father is being held prisoner.”

“James White, I am not a little boy. I am Kazeem Bay, Ibn Ardeth, Ibn Humam, and so forth, hereditary Chieftain of the Twelve Tribes of the Medjai. And you, right now, are my second-in-command. Now get on the horse.”

James’ feet started carrying him over to the horse before he realized he was taking orders from an eight year old boy.

Mounting the great horse was easier than James had anticipated. Askari turned his head back with a baleful expression on his face, but did not resist. Kazeem patted Askari on the nose once more, murmuring endearments, and jumped up in front of the Englishman.

“How do you know which way to go?” asked James, as Kazeem urged the horse into a medium gallop.

“Did you not see the direction they rode off in?” asked Kazeem.

“No, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“We are following their tracks.” Kazeem pointed down to the sand, which looked to James just like all the other sand in the desert.

“I’ll take your word for it,” James replied.

“Do you see how the sand seems to be arranged in rows? Where the horses have been, there are breaks.”

James looked down more closely and could faintly see what Kazeem meant.

“If we took the time to return to the village, the tracks would be gone by the time we came back,” continued Kazeem. “That is why we need to follow them now.”

As they rode further, James asked, “Do you mind if I ask you why those men attacked us?”

“They were from the same tribe as the Bedouin horse traders that were in our village a few months ago, the ones my Abu bought Twig from. That night, two of them came to the stables and tried to steal Askari.”

“What happened?”

“Askari killed them.”

James almost fell off the horse.

“Kazeem, I know your English is excellent,” James began slowly. “But there must be some misunderstanding here. Did you say Askari killed two men?”

“Actually, he only killed one of them. The one that almost got a rope around Askari’s neck. You have seen how Askari rears up on his hind legs? When he came down again, that man was underneath.”

“And the second man?”

“The same, but he was still alive when my father released him back into the desert.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I was sleeping in Twig’s stall when I heard a commotion. I went out to investigate. By the time my father arrived, I had mostly calmed Askari down.”

“So you went out into the paddock to calm down a horse who had basically just killed two men?”  
“It was Askari! He would never hurt me.” Kazeem bent forward, his head against the horse’s neck.

“I am totally at sea here,” said James.

Kazeem looked around blankly at the never ending desert.

“Sorry,” said James. “It means I have no idea what is going on anymore.”

“You are not Medjai,” replied Kazeem.

“Of course, that explains everything,” said James.

Kazeem turned to face the Englishman. “Our ways are not your ways, James,” he said. “But do not worry. Trust in Allah, everything will be alright.”

“That’s it? Trust in Allah?”

“And in my father. Do you know what his second name is? It is Dhul Fiqar, which is the name of the Prophet’s sword. So you see, there is nothing to worry about.”

Kazeem turned his attention back to the horse and the sand. “Look, they went that way.” He pointed to the faint trail in the undulations of the sand and urged Askari on in the direction the Bedouins had taken. 

When they reached a small wadi, Kazeem stopped. “Someone has recently been here,” he said, pointing to the ground, which showed recent hoof prints. “And there is water here.” Kazeem indicated a trickle of what during other seasons would be a stream. “Askari can drink and we can refill our water skins.” Kazeem removed the three large water skins from Askari’s saddlebags and showed James how to refill them.

“We should eat, drink and do whatever,” Kazeem continued, pulling some sort of dried meat from a saddlebag. “Medjai do not eat horses,” Kazeem explained, seeing James’ hesitant expression. “This is goat.”

James ate the chewy strip of meat, drank some water, and went behind a rock formation to take care of the third part of Kazeem’s order. When he returned, he showed Kazeem what he had in his hand. “I found this behind the rock,” said James.

Kazeem took the coin from James’ hand and smiled. “This is from my Ume’s belt,” he said. “That means the Bedouins were here. They probably gave my mother some privacy and she took the opportunity to leave this for us.”

“Is that real gold?” asked James, recalling the belt decorated with hanging coins that Jamila had worn over her sash.

“I suppose so,” answered Kazeem offhandedly. He knew about, and would someday see for himself, Seti’s treasure rooms. His mother’s belt was just a trinket compared to what lay beneath the sands.

“So this is like Hansel and Gretel,” said James.

“I know that story,” replied Kazeem. “It is from the grim book my grandfather has.”

“I believe the names of the authors were Grimm,” replied James. “Although some of the stories are quite grim.”

“In the ones my grandfather reads us, the handsome prince always rescues the beautiful princess and they live happily ever after.”

“Is there a story where the brave son of the handsome prince and the beautiful princess rescue them from the evil king?”

“I do not think so, but there should be. And the Bedouin shakh is no king. He is ibn il tinayich.” Kazeem put his hand up to his mouth. “Please do not tell my Ume that I said that. It is a very bad expression, not something to be used in proper company.”

“You’re trying to distract me,” said James with a small smile.

“Is it working?” replied Kazeem. “We need to concentrate on what we must do, not worry about what might happen.”

“Is that a Medjai thing?”

“It is something my father taught me.”

“He is a very wise man. And you, Kazeem, take after him.”

“Thank you James. I pray to Allah what you say is true.”

As darkness settled, the faint trail in the sand became more difficult to decipher. “We should stop for the night,” suggested James. “We could be going in the wrong direction and that won’t do any of us any good.”

Kazeem was just about to agree when he spied a wisp of smoke up ahead. “Look, James. The Bedouins have made camp. That is very good luck for us. We will wait until they are asleep and we will rescue my parents.”

As reality set in, James found that any bravado he had previously felt was gone. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked.

“Do not worry, my Abu knows we are coming. He will be ready for us.”

“If you say so.” James looked at Kazeem and saw no trace on the boy’s face of the doubt he himself felt.

This part of the desert contained an abundance of rock outcroppings. Kazeem brought Askari to a stop behind one not far from the Bedouin’s camp. “We will wait here until it is time,” he said.

“How will we know?”

“My Abu says there is a time of night when the dybbuks and demons walk. He told me it is a belief of your people.”

James thought for a moment. “The witching hour?” he asked.

“Yes, that is what he calls it. That is when we will strike.”

James looked at his watch. “That will be three o’clock, if I remember correctly. How will your father know what time it is?”

“He will look at the sky, and he will know,” replied Kazeem. “We should sleep now.” With that, Kazeem removed two bedrolls from one of Askari’s saddlebags. Giving one to James, he laid the other on a flat piece of ground, crawled inside, and immediately fell asleep.

James did the same, but sleep did not come easily. It seemed as if he had only been asleep for a few minutes when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “It is time to go,” said Kazeem.

James was amazed that such a large horse could move so quietly as horse and riders crept up to the camp. The Bedouins were all asleep, even the man who had been assigned to guard Ardeth and Jamila. James saw empty liquor bottles and knew the men were not just asleep, they were passed out. “Where do you think your parents are?” James whispered to Kazeem.

Kazeem pointed to a tent with a Bedouin sprawled out asleep in front of it. “That is the guard that was ordered to watch them,” he said confidently. “They are inside.”

“So we free them and get out of here?”

Kazeem looked at the Englishman. “No, my father will want to deal with the man who dared to touch my Ume disrespectfully.”

“Deal with? Do you mean kill?”

“That is his right,” replied Kazeem sanguinely. “No one may touch our women without their permission, and my Ume is the Sayyidah.”

James and Kazeem silently rode to the back of the tent, making sure they were not seen. They needn’t have bothered, as the Bedouins did not stir. Kazeem took his knife from the sash around his waist, flashed it at James, and cut a slit in the wall of the tent.

Inside, Ardeth and Jamila had already taken similar blades from the sashes around their waists and were removing the last of their bindings. “They did not think to search me here,” said Ardeth, indicating his crotch.”

Jamila blushed as she returned her own blade to her sash. “And their women are not allowed to carry weapons,” she said.

“Alright, let’s get out of here before they wake up,” urged James.

“A moment,” said Ardeth. “I have something I need to do.” He turned to Jamila. “My wife, is the man who was set to guard us the same one who took your bracelets?”

“Yes, my lord,” replied Jamila. “He put them in a pouch tied to his belt.”

“I will retrieve them for you,” said Ardeth. He held out his hand to his son and Kazeem gave him the scimitar he had drawn from behind his back. He stepped out of the tent and returned a few moments later with Jamila’s bracelets, wiping his scimitar blade on his robe.

“Can we please leave now?” asked James. “I’ve had enough excitement to last me a lifetime.”

“We will get our horses and leave,” agreed Ardeth. “But after we get to Cairo I will send a company to gather our dead and take care of this problem for good.”

Just then, there was a commotion outside the tent. “Someone has killed Tahnoon!” yelled one of the Bedouins, waking up the others.

Ardeth turned to Kazeem. “Take your mother, take Askari, and get out of here. We will catch up with you shortly.”

“But father, I want to stay and fight!” Kazeem protested.

“I am ordering you as your Chieftain. Now go!” Ardeth pushed Kazeem and Jamila through the rip in the back of the tent before they had a chance to protest, then turned to James.

“Have you ever shot anyone?” the Chieftain asked.

“No, and I don’t think I could,” replied James.

“Have you ever shot anyone who was trying to kill you?”

“Well, when you put it that way, I don’t think I will have a problem,” said James. 

Kazeem and Jamila rode back to the outcropping where Kazeem and James had camped. They could hear gunshots and screams from the Bedouin camp, and it was all Jamila could do not to grab the reins and go back.

“Ume, we must stay here until father comes for us,” said Kazeem.

Jamila looked down at her son. “You have no doubt he will come for us,” she said.

“Of course not,” answered Kazeem. “Allah will protect him.”

Kazeem dismounted and helped his mother down. “You always take care of me, don’t you Ky-Ky,” said Jamila. “You will make a good Chieftain someday.”

Mother and son sat down on a rock and waited.

Suddenly, there was the sound of an explosion and flames lit up the sky. “They were drinking alcohol,” explained Jamila. “They had a whole case of it in one of the tents.”

Before the smoke cleared, two riders came out of the remains of the Bedouin camp. Jamila and Kazeem could tell, based on the riders’ clothes, that it was Ardeth and James.

“I stand corrected,” said James as he dismounted from his horse. “I have now had enough excitement to last two lifetimes.”

Ardeth dismounted more slowly, and staggered slightly as he walked over to his family.

“Ardeth, you’ve hurt your arm!” exclaimed Jamila, noticing the rip in Ardeth’s robe. The red stain slowly spreading across the black material was barely noticeable in the moonlight.

“It is nothing, kalila,” replied Ardeth, but he let his wife lower him to the rock Jamila had been sitting on.

James was rummaging around in the saddlebag of one of the horses. “It’s good luck we got this chap back,” he said. “My kit is in here.” James removed the satchel containing his veterinary supplies.

“La, la, you are not going to stitch me up with a horse needle,” Ardeth protested. “I will be fine until we get to Cairo.”

“I have a packet of human first aid supplies in here,” replied James. “For the times when my patients get the better of me.” James looked over to Jamila and noticed she was about to rip the hem of her robe for a bandage. “No need of that, my lady,” he said. “I have some bandages in here. But I could use your assistance.”

James eased Ardeth’s robe off the Medjai’s shoulder, removed the Medjai’s badly ripped tunic, and examined the wound. He gave a low whistle. “That’s a nasty slice,” he said. “But nothing serious. Now Jamila, I need you to soak some of this gauze in this.” 

James took a flask out of his jacket pocket, to the raised eyebrows of the others. “For medicinal purposes only,” he said. “Ardeth, I know you won’t take a sip of this to dull the pain, but I’ll try not to hurt you too much. Kazeem, come over here and hold your father’s hand. Jamila, hold the two edges of the wound together, please. Alright, everybody ready?” 

There were nods all around, and James began to stitch.

Ardeth winced as the needle pierced his skin, then looked up at his son. “Shukran for sharing your strength with me,” he whispered.

Before long, James had finished his sewing job. He reached into his bag and pulled out a canister. “This is an antiseptic powder we use on animals,” he explained. “I’ve been covered with it myself on occasion, so I’m sure it won’t do any harm.” He sprinkled it liberally over the wound and then applied a gauze bandage. “There, that will hold until we get to Cairo. Try not to move your shoulder too much or the stitches will open. Now Kazeem, may I please borrow your sash?” 

Kazeem quickly removed the sash that was tied around his waist, slipping the small blade that was hidden there into his boot. He held the length of fabric out to James, who quickly fashioned a sling. 

“There,” announced James. “Safe as houses, or in your case, tents.” 

The others looked at the Englishman quizzically. “It’s slang, a term that might not be used in proper company,” explained James, with a quick glance at Kazeem, who immediately found something very interesting to look at on the ground. 

James turned his attention to Askari, who was standing quietly nearby. “I’m not sure how you are going to be able to ride that one,” he said to Ardeth.

“My son has already proven his worth as a horseman,” the Medjai replied. “I will ride behind him.” 

Askari stood still as Ardeth was boosted up onto his back. Ardeth reached over and patted the horse with his good arm. “I am glad to see you, old friend,” he said. 

Kazeem easily mounted the horse in front of his father. “I expect,” said Ardeth. “That when we return to the village, you will ride Askari, and I will be riding Twig.”

Kazeem turned back to his father. “Oh Abu, I can only ride Askari because he knows you want him to let me. Although…….when Twig is a big battle horse I will tell him to let you ride him.”

Ardeth leaned forward and gave his son a hug with his good arm. “I will need to hold onto you as we ride,” he said. 

“Of course,” replied Kazeem. He knew his father’s arm was not just around him for balance.

The sun was rising as the group neared Cairo. “I never thought of the desert as looking like this,” said James, indicating the colors of the sky. 

Ardeth, who had been dozing behind his son, opened his eyes and looked around. “There is nothing more beautiful than the desert,” he said. “Except for my lady wife.” He turned and looked back at Jamila, who smiled her husband’s words. 

“You must be feeling better,” quipped James. “Although how you can sleep while riding a horse is beyond me.” He maneuvered his own horse over to Askari and reached his hand out to touch Ardeth’s forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever, as far as I can tell. That’s good. You’ll still need to take it easy until the sutures come out.”

“Saleemah back in our village can do that, or I can,” said Jamila. “I have removed stiches before.”

“Of course you have,” replied James, wondering at how matter-of-factly his friends treated everything that had recently happened.

Upon arriving in Cairo, the group immediately made their way to the Medjai compound. Ardeth refused all assistance in dismounting, not wanting to show weakness in front of his men.

“You are welcome to stay here,” Ardeth told James, once they had entered the holding house. He indicated the neat although Spartan barracks. “I have my own adjoining apartments.” Ardeth turned to his son. “Kazeem, you may stay in the barracks with the other warriors if you wish.”

The way his father referred to him was not lost on Kazeem, and a broad grin spread across his face. “Oh yes, Abu, I would like to stay in the barracks with the other warriors!” 

“Actually, the Min. of Ag. has arranged a billet for me at Fort Bryden,” said James. “I am scheduled to meet with some government types and I think they would be more at ease there than here.”

James looked around. There were a number of Medjai scrupulously ignoring him while they sharpened their weapons, repaired saddles, and did whatever else Medjai did. Outside, James could hear the sounds of sparring from one of the training rings. “Yes, I’m sure they would feel more comfortable in Fort Bryden,” he said.

“I will have some of my men escort you there,” replied Ardeth. “I find I am fatigued.” He looked at Jamila.

“Abu, may please I accompany James?” asked Kazeem.

Ardeth smiled. “Of course,” he answered. “You can keep him out of trouble.”

James made his goodbyes to Ardeth and Jamila, promising to visit them the next time he was in Egypt. As he and Kazeem left, followed by two warriors, he turned to the boy. “No wonder your father is tired, he’s been through a lot.”

Kazeem smiled. “James, when my Abu said he was fatigued, what he really meant was that he wanted to spend some time alone with my Ume.” The two warriors accompanying Kazeem and James exchanged a glance. They knew their Chieftain had been injured. They also had a good idea what the Chieftain and his wife would soon be doing and were filled with pride at the knowledge that they had such a strong and virile leader.

Back in the Chieftain’s apartment at the Medjai compound, Jamila helped Ardeth remove his robe. “This is all ripped,” she noted. “I will repair it when we return home.”

“Kalila, I can afford a new robe.”

“I know,” replied Jamila. “But it seems a shame to discard this one.” Even though as the wife of a Chieftain she was considered wealthy, Jamila tended to be frugal. She never forgot what her earlier life had been like, when her only possession was a ragged tunic. 

“I was thinking,” said Ardeth. “Perhaps your Ume could cut it down for Kazeem. I know he is young, but he has proven himself worthy to wear a warrior’s robe.”

Jamila clapped her hands in delight. “Oh Ardeth, that would be wonderful. You always have the best ideas. But we should keep it a secret until it is done.”

Jamila folded the robe neatly and placed it on a nearby chest. Ardeth’s tunic had been left in the desert. The thin material had been too damaged to salvage. When she turned back, Jamila saw that Ardeth was sitting on their bed. “You should lie down,” she said.

“I am fine, kalila,” Ardeth said, but he did what his wife asked.

Spending the night in Cairo was always a treat for Jamila. Instead of the pillow bed they had at home, Ardeth and Jamila had a European style bed, complete with mattress, headboard, and footboard. It was customary for the Medjai, especially the Chieftain, to sleep low to the ground. Superstitions died hard in the desert.

The first time she was at the Medjai compound in Cairo, Jamila was dismayed by the condition of Ardeth’s apartments. There was only a single bed with a worn blanket, a chest, and a low table. When she told Fatima about this, her mother organized some of the women in one of their eternal quilting projects. The next time Ardeth and Jamila were in Cairo, Ardeth was surprised by the beautiful quilt covering a bed large enough for two, and a tapestry rug covering the previously bare wooden floor. “Where did all this come from?” Ardeth asked.

“The women of the village made the quilt. Your Ume told me she just happened to have a rug that she was not using, but I believe she bought it from the last caravan that passed through. And some of your warriors made that bed for us,” Jamila replied.

“Was that the hammering I kept hearing that would stop whenever I approached?”

“Aiwa, it was to be a surprise.”

Now, Jamila was thankful for the comfort of their apartments. She knew Ardeth would never complain, even if he slept on bare rock, but she had seen the wound on his arm and was glad he would have a soft bed to sleep in.

“You must let me attend you, my lord,” Jamila said with a twinkle in her eye.

Ardeth sighed dramatically, suddenly not thinking about the pain in his arm. “I put myself in your hands,” he said.

Jamila swiftly removed Ardeth’s boots and trousers and looked down at her husband’s naked form. Even though he was somewhat pale, there was nothing soft about the Medjai Chieftain, except for his expression when he looked at his wife. Jamila knew that other than a casual “How does your arm feel,” it was not appropriate for her to show undue concern for Ardeth’s injuries. After all, he was Medjai.

It was not long after Jamila’s and Ardeth’s marriage, and Jamila was visiting with her mother-in-law while Ardeth was out on patrol.

“Every time he leaves the village,” Jamila said. “I fear he will not return.”

“You must get used to it, and never let him know,” replied Amira. “It would not do for Ardeth to worry about you while he was in battle.”

“How did you stand it when your husband was injured?” Jamila was still not comfortable calling her father-in-law by his first name.

“You know,” said Amira. “They carried him off the battlefield. His warriors made some sort of sling and attached it to the back of a horse. When they came back to the village, I thought they were returning his body. When I saw Humam lived, I had him brought to our tent and called for the healer. I did not think Humam would live the night, but Allah was merciful. I never let him see me cry. I needed to be strong for both of us.”

At that moment, Humam entered the tent. Both women startled, wondering what the retired Chieftain had heard.

“I have been reading Plutarch,” Humam said. “Translated from the Greek into English.” Humam was an avid reader and had passed on his love of books to his son.

Amira smiled at her husband of over 25 years. “And what does this Plutarch have to say that is so interesting?”

“There was a city known as Sparta in ancient Greece,” Humam began. “Its men were known throughout the world as brave and valiant warriors. To the extent,” Humam continued. “That it was said that as the men went off to battle, Spartan women would say to their sons ‘Come back with your shield - or on it’”

“They sound like Medjai,” said Jamila, unconsciously placing her hand on her abdomen, where she knew the future Chieftain was growing.

“I do not believe we take it to quite that level, daughter,” answered Humam. “The bravery and sacrifice of the Spartan women was at least equal to those of their men.” He looked at his wife. “But no more so than that of our own women.”

There was a jug of water and a basin on the small table near the bed, along with a soft cloth. Jamila poured some water into the basin, and soaked the cloth. After wringing it out, Jamila turned to the bed. “You must let me wash the dust of battle off you, my husband,” she said. Ardeth knew this was a pretense on Jamila’s part so she could examine him for other wounds, but he was not going to deny himself the pleasure of feeling his wife’s soft hands on him.

“Your clothes will get all wet,” Ardeth replied.

Jamila looked down. “Oh, you’re right. I suppose I should take them off, then.”

Ardeth enjoyed the sight of his wife removing her clothing. Soon, Jamila, her hair loose, stood naked before her husband clad only in her bracelets and the gold belt that Ardeth had asked her to keep on. “Not even Seti himself had a treasure such as you,” Ardeth said to his wife.

Not much washing went on, although Jamila teased her husband with the washcloth after satisfying herself that Ardeth had suffered no further injuries. 

Sometime later, Jamila stopped what she was doing. “This bed squeaks,” she complained.  
Ardeth was half propped up against the headboard, a position which allowed him a perfect view of the place where he was joined to his wife. “Less talking,” he commanded, punctuating his words with a thrust of his hips.

Still later, as he held her against his chest with his uninjured arm, Ardeth ran his hand over the coin belt that Jamila was still wearing. “This reminds me of something James said to me,” he said lazily. “He said he imagined me as a sultan, complete with dancing girls. Would you dance for me, kalila?”

“Of course, my love.”

“We shall go to the souk and I shall purchase scarves for you to wear, and as you dance you shall remove them one by one, until you are naked before me.”

Jamila looked down at herself. ”I am naked now, my lord.”

“Ah, but I do so love to watch you dance.” Ardeth closed his eyes with a smile on his face, and was almost instantly asleep.

Jamila waited a few minutes, then slipped out of bed. Retrieving the quilt from the floor where it had landed, she carefully spread it over her husband. Then, climbing into the bed herself, Jamila pulled the quilt up so they were both covered and was soon asleep as well.

The next morning, Ardeth’s arm seemed to be better. James had left a supply of bandages as well as some of the antiseptic powder, and Jamila expertly changed the dressing. “It’s not infected,” she announced, after touching her lips to the skin around the stitches.”

“There may be other parts of me that need to be checked for infection,” teased Ardeth. “I believe there is also some swelling that should be examined closely.”

“I will examine you closely later,” retorted Jamila. “Right now, I am certain our son is wondering why we are still in bed. After all, he expects a visit to Abdul’s before we leave for home.”

“And a visit to the souk,” Ardeth reminded her.

..oo00oo..

Abdul’s expression went from happy to see his Chieftain to dismayed when he saw the sling on Ardeth’s arm. “I heard there was trouble, Sayyid,” the older man said. “But I did not realize you were injured.”

“Just a scratch,” said Ardeth. “There was a friend visiting from England, a healer of animals, and he decided to ply his trade on me.”

Abdul turned to Kazeem. “I also heard you took part in this adventure, young Chieftain.”

Kazeem was bursting to tell Abdul everything that had happened, but knew it was not appropriate to seem to be bragging. Ardeth, noticing his son’s expression, stepped in.

“My son found the Bedouin camp and helped free his mother and myself,” said Ardeth. “If not for his actions, we might still be held captive.”

“In that case, I shall have to pack a special treat for him,” replied Abdul. “My wife and Juhanah have been busy making Zeppole. They are a great hit with the tourists who prefer European food. And Giuliana enjoys making food from her own childhood.”

“How is your family, Abdul?” asked Jamila. 

“Thanks to you, it is growing again,” replied Abdul. He turned in the direction of the kitchen. “Daughter,” he called. “Come and greet our guests!”

Jamila remembered the first time she met Juhanah. The young girl was pregnant by the man who had killed her first husband, a man who was ultimately killed. Jamila had arranged for Abdul and his wife to provide a home for Juhanah in exchange for her help in their restaurant. Before long, Abdul’s youngest son Antonio had fallen in love with the girl and soon after her son was born, they had married.

The last time Jamila had seen Juhanah, she was introduced to Juhanah’s and Antonio’s new daughter. Now, as Juhanah came out of the kitchen, it was apparent that she was pregnant again.

“Marhaban, Sayyid, Sayyidah,” said Juhanah, wiping floury hands on an apron that barely covered her stomach. “And is this your new second-in-command?”

“This is my son Kazeem,” replied Ardeth proudly.

“That is not possible!” said Juhanah, smiling. “The last time I saw him he was just a baby, and now he is a great warrior!”

“How are you feeling, Juhanah?” said Jamila.

“I am fine, but Tony keeps making me sit down. He got a high stool from one of the nearby bars and put it in the kitchen, so when I am cooking I do not have to stand on my feet. He takes such good care of me.”

“How are the children?” asked Jamila.

“Rafi is a great help here already,” said Abdul. “Before long, he will be in charge and I will be able to retire.”

“And your daughter? I’m sorry, I forget her name,” said Jamila.

“It’s Angelina,” replied Juhanah. “That’s the Italian version of Malayeka. This baby will have an Arabic name. We are taking turns.”

“I was telling our Chieftain about the Zeppole you and Giuliana have been making,” said Abdul.

“Oh yes, father,” replied Juhanah. “We just finished frying a batch. I will go get a plate.”

“And please box some up, too,” said Abdul. “The ones with jam in the middle. Plus some packets for our friends.” Abdul indicated the two warriors who were standing stone-faced not far from the table, much to the discomfort of some of the other patrons.

“Abdul, if I were to stay any longer in Cairo, I would not fit into my robe,” joked Ardeth. “Besides, I think our presence scares away the paying customers.”

Abdul laughed. “If it wasn’t for your father, this place would not even exist. Your presence here honors us. And as for the other patrons…..” Abdul made a rude gesture with his hand, then his eyes widened. “A thousand apologies, Sayyidah,” he said to Jamila.

Jamila had removed her veil to eat, but she now raised it so it covered her entire face. “I did not see a thing, Abdul,” she assured the restauranteur. Over the years, Jamila had become used to Abdul’s behavior. As an unmarked Medjai, a man who was not a warrior, he tended to be much more casual in his actions. 

After their meal, the family left the restaurant laden with boxes. “Do not eat everything at once, young Chieftain,” Abdul admonished Kazeem. “Or you will end up looking like me!” Abdul patted his own ample stomach.

As they headed off towards the souk, Jamila pulled her veil back up. Even so covered, when the shopkeepers saw Ardeth, they knew who Jamila was, and came rushing over to her.

Ardeth had long given up trying to pay the going rate for items he bought from the stalls that extended in all directions. However, he did not believe that the fact that the Medjai provided some small level of security entitled him to special treatment, so he would covertly slip some extra coins to the wives or children of the shopkeepers. That way, everyone was happy.

Jamila managed to extricate herself from the group of shopkeepers who had gathered around her and, followed by one of the Medjai warriors, eventually made her way to a stall which sold paper goods. There, she found just what she was looking for: a small box of stationery with a matching pen and inkwell. Feeling a presence behind her, Jamila spoke without turning. “This will be perfect for Fariza. She will be far from home and can use this to write to her family. What do you think, my husband?”

“I think that I can never sneak up on you without you knowing I am there,” replied Ardeth. 

Jamila turned and noticed that Ardeth was holding some packages. “I see you also did some shopping,” she said.

Ardeth held out a small package wrapped in stiff paper. “This is for Azim,” he said. “It is a leather palm, similar to the one Fatima gave me, along with a strong needle and thread.”

“My Ume knows all the sewing tricks,” replied Jamila. 

“I have had the opportunity to use mine more times than I can count,” said Ardeth. “Every time I need to repair my saddle while on patrol, I bless your mother for her kindness.”

“What else did you buy?” asked Jamila, pointing to the larger package Ardeth was holding.

After looking around to make sure he would not be overheard, Ardeth leaned over. “Scarves fit for a dancing girl,” he whispered in his wife’s ear. “I shall enjoy seeing you wear them for me when we return home.”

“I believe my lord will enjoy watching me remove them even more,” Jamila whispered back.

Before Ardeth could reply, Kazeem came running up to his parents, with one of the Medjai warriors close behind him. “Abu, Ume, look what we found!” He held out a book. “It’s a grim book, but one with more pictures and easier words, so Yasmeen can read it for herself.”

Jamila took the book from her son’s hands. “This is very nice,” she said, flipping through the pages. “I’m sure your sister will like it.”

“What did you buy for yourself?” asked Ardeth. He had given Kazeem some coins before sending him off to explore the souk.

Kazeem removed a small knife from his belt. “I gave James my old blade. I told him he should give it to his son.” 

“That was very kind of you,” said Jamila. 

“I do not believe James’ son will have need of such a weapon,” said Ardeth. “But I am sure James appreciated the gift. Now let me see what you purchased.”

Kazeem held out the knife to his father. “This is a Spanish knife, a navaja,” Ardeth explained. He showed Kazeem how the knife locked open.

“The shopkeeper told me it had once belonged to the king of the gypsies,” said Kazeem. “I did not believe him, but I did need a new knife, and this was such a pretty one.”

“The balance is good,” remarked Ardeth. “And it should take a good edge.” He ran his thumb over the intricate etching on the blade. “Who knows,” he said, “perhaps it did belong to a gypsy king.”

..oo00oo..

Sometime later, Ardeth and his family were ready to leave Cairo. A company of Medjai had been sent ahead to make sure any remaining Bedouins were gone and to retrieve the bodies of the two murdered warriors. Ardeth, Jamila, and Kazeem, along with a half dozen warriors, would meet up with the larger group outside of Cairo. The Medjai Chieftain was taking extra precautions until he knew any threat from the Bedouins had been neutralized.

After the nine riders were assembled, Ardeth, who was at the front of the group, called to his son. Kazeem, who was towards the middle, turned to his mother. “What do you think he wants, Ume?” the boy asked.

“Go on up and see,” said Jamila.

Kazeem clicked his heels against his horse’s flanks and rode up to his father, who was mounted on Askari.

“What is it, father?” asked Kazeem.

“The men are waiting,” replied Ardeth. Even though the Chieftain had already pulled up his veil, Kazeem could see the smile in his father’s eyes.

“Waiting?” 

“Aiwa, they are waiting for you to give the signal to proceed. Or would you rather sit here in Cairo all day?”

Kazeem looked back at his mother, who smiled and nodded at him. Then he turned back around and sat up straight. 

“Go ahead,” Ardeth said softly.

Kazeem raised his hand. “Yalla! Imshi!” he called, and started forward without a backward glance, as he had seen his father do so many times. After all, a Medjai chieftain, even a future Medjai chieftain, expected to be obeyed by his warriors. 

..oo00oo..

Arabic (and other) words

Abu – father

Aish Baladi – flatbread

Aiwa – yes

Aljannat Firdaus – the highest level of Paradise

Bayt – a group of Bedouins living as a family unit

Bint – daughter of

Dukka Bread – flatbread

Dybbuks – (Yiddish) a malicious possessing spirit believed to be the dislocated soul of a dead person.

Effendi – (Turkish ) an honorific

Ibn – son of

Kalila – an endearment

Khamaseen – a windstorm

Khawagah – foreigner

La – no

Marhaban – a greeting

Mo^allem – teacher

Navaja – a traditional Spanish folding-blade fighting and utility knife

Sayyid – a respectful form of address for a man

Sayyidah – a respectful form of address for a woman

Shakyh – a Bedouin leader

Shukran – thank you

Taqiyah – a short, rounded skullcap

Uma – mother, especially used by young children

Ume – mother

Yalla! Imshi! – let’s go!

Zeppole – (Italian) fried donuts

**Author's Note:**

> Bedouin Camp  
> http://www.old-picture.com/europe/Bedouin-Camp.htm  
> ..oo00oo..  
> Jamila’s bracelets  
> http://www.ancient-egypt-history.com/2012/10/egyptian-gold-bracelets.html#.VaA7gvn5woS  
> ..oo00oo..  
> Ardeth’s Samovar  
> https://russianlegacy.com/1930-tula-samovar-set-p-1858.html  
> ..oo00oo..  
> Nubian kids  
> https://chuckbluetree.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/nubiangoats.jpg  
> ..oo00oo..  
> Jamila’s belt  
> http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004304PEK/ref=pd_lpo_sbs_dp_ss_1?pf_rd_p=1944687662&pf_rd_s=lpo-top-stripe-1&pf_rd_t=201&pf_rd_i=B00C5WFATC&pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_r=1VW37XS01WX1FF4S45CT  
> ..oo00oo..  
> Sahara at daybreak  
> https://plus.google.com/+JarrodCastaing/posts/awE3bSQdi84?pid=6158125777076199682&oid=105952873270340596947  
> ..oo00oo..  
> Sewing palm  
> http://www.amazon.com/Tandy-Leather-Handed-Sewing-3944-00/dp/B0036M6SAK


End file.
